


arisama, arisama

by ixcarus



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Attempt at Humor, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Despair Disease (Dangan Ronpa), Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Introspection, Killing Game (Dangan Ronpa), M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mutual Pining, Sickfic, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28364943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ixcarus/pseuds/ixcarus
Summary: “Wellsurprise!I have the gullible disease! I can’t tell who’s lying anymore, and everyone seems so nice. Heh, Monokuma’s such abitch,right? He said it was funny.” Kokichi sobers for a second. “I didn’t think it was funny.”Kaede, Maki, and Shuichi all blink at him.Kokichi blinks back, then sneezes.“Oh god,” Kaede finally says. “We’re fucked, aren’t we?”__or: a chapter 1 rewrite where the motive is the despair disease, ft. pining saiouma
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 104
Kudos: 567
Collections: Quality Fics





	1. to my dear weak self, "nice to meet you"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, I rise back from the dead to present my first multi-chaptered fic in quite a while, for a fandom/pairing that has completely taken over my life. Yes. I finished all of danganronpa this fall and now I'm in deep and the saiouma brainworms are too strong. 
> 
> this is a vague chpt 1 AU where the time limit motive hasn't happened (...yet) and the others have had time to get to know each other, and have even thwarted a few motives before the despair disease hits. Is this also just an excuse to have Kaede and Rantaro in the plot? Absolutely. 
> 
> the fic/chapter titles come from the song [arisama](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vcq4xyooNns) by chinozo. According to the [translated lyrics](https://vocaloidlyrics.fandom.com/wiki/%E3%82%A2%E3%83%AA%E3%82%B5%E3%83%9E_\(Arisama\)), "arisama" can mean both "the truth" and "who I am" which, idk!! thought it was fitting, also the song just slaps?? Check it out if you're interested, but general flashing lights warning for the music video! and also, I know this is dr where lots of Bad Things happen in canon, but please check the tags and be careful. This fic will get into darker themes! 
> 
> and finally, this was beta-ed by the wonderful, AMAZING [serenescribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenescribe/pseuds/serenescribe) \- this fic would simply not exist without their help and encouragement, and I cannot thank them enough!! 
> 
> That's all I have to say for now. Ty so much for checking this fic out, and I hope y'all enjoy!

Kokichi Ouma wakes up in the middle of the night, sweaty and shivering and _sick,_ and realizes that the world is ending. 

_Okay, maybe a bit dramatic,_ he thinks, but there’s a subtle panic that lingers under the sticky grossness of his skin. It’s late — or early, maybe, he can’t tell — and the pitch-black darkness of the room does nothing to help his erratic breathing, or the heavy pounding in his skull. He feels as if his head were stuffed with cotton, then doused with gasoline; like he’s only seconds away from catching fire and becoming nothing but a pile of ashes on his bed. 

He swallows a shaky breath, and blinks away the spots in his eyes. 

Was he poisoned? No, Kokichi remembers going to sleep perfectly fine. The only person who could’ve slipped something into his food discreetly is Kirumi anyways, who shouldn’t have access to the fifth floor. Then, was it just illness? That doesn’t make much sense to him either — the side effects are too sudden, too unnatural to be just a cold. He doubts Monokuma would even _let_ the participants get sick without some ulterior motive in mind. 

...Oh. Maybe that’s it. 

_Can Monokuma really do something like that, though?_ Kokichi chews on his lips in thought. He supposes if he has the power to manipulate their memories, manipulating their bodies isn’t too big of a stretch either. _But still, magically getting a cold overnight? Isn’t that asking for a bit too much? I can only suspend my disbelief for so much, y’know._

He shivers, and distantly thinks of DICE. Whenever he’d get sick, it’d be Spades fussing over him while Hearts laughed her ass off. _Sick, again?_ She’d croon, kicking her legs up on their shitty little couch. _You’re so lame sometimes, boss._ And Kokichi would curse at the both of them, causing a huge ruckus until Ace stormed in with chicken noodle soup and his angry voice, which shut _everyone_ up. He’d fall asleep to the sound of everyone bickering, having fun…

It’s a pleasant lie, he knows, and for a moment he lets himself play pretend. Allows himself to indulge in this far-off dream that once long ago, there’d been people who genuinely cared for him. 

_Ah, how pathetic,_ Kokichi thinks to himself bitterly, _how horribly pathetic,_ and suddenly his heart feels like it’s being _squeezed_ and ripped apart. He knows that DICE probably isn’t real, knows the motive videos were most likely bullshit, but it doesn’t even matter anymore, because he misses them. He misses them and _hates_ them, because DICE won’t leave him alone, DICE still lives in his head, no matter how hard he tries to forget or leave them behind. They’re like the ghosts Kaito always screams about, cheerful clown masks peering into him from every corner of his room. Phantoms that breathe down this neck, judging. _Watching._

He wants to make them proud, and hates that he does. 

And there’s nothing he can do about it, really, nothing to do but believe in their ideals _(no killing,_ they say, and _god_ isn’t it cruel that he’s been put into this game?). Whether it’s a lie or the truth, whether he wants to or not, DICE has him in the palm of their hands. 

So he misses them. He misses them horribly, _painfully,_ so much that in the quiet of his room, a genuine tear slips from his eyes. 

_...What the fuck?_

Something… isn’t right. No, Kokichi Ouma, the Ultimate Supreme Leader, is _not_ supposed to get carried away like this. He’s always prided himself as the best goddamn actor in this hell of a stage, so it makes no sense for him to start breaking character now. Through his sickened haze, every emotion that he’s swallowed feels too _real,_ suddenly, tangible and bursting at the seams, spilling out in a horrifyingly embarrassing way. _Crying._

Kokichi can’t let the others see him like this. 

He plans on getting out of bed — he needs to get to the warehouse, find some medicine before morning hits and everyone wakes up — but he only manages to trip over himself, collapsing onto the floor in a pile of blankets. 

“What the _fuck,”_ he hisses, out loud this time, but his voice is slurring, and there’s a rasp in his tone. 

_“Why, having trouble there, Kokichi?”_ An awfully shrill voice comes from nowhere. He winces at the immediate, sharp pain it brings him, like lighting grating on his nerves. 

_“You,”_ he practically growls, blinking against the harsh red light of Monokuma’s eye. “Wh-what did you _do to me?”_

Monokuma laughs, throwing his hands up with glee. _“Despairrr Disease!”_

Kokichi blinks. “Um… what?” 

“It’s a real thing, promise!” Monokuma laughs. “Despair disease is more than your average common cold — it’s a _horrrrrrible_ illness that can also completely change your personality! Different people get different strains, which creates a whole _new_ cast for a killing game!” Monokuma keeps his arms up for a second longer, before dropping them and looking at the ground with a defeated expression. “Although, I was hoping we wouldn’t use this old trope. I guess you gotta do what you gotta do to get the ball rolling!”

“That’s… the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Kokichi sneers, but the gears in his head are already turning. “There’s no such thing as an illness that can do that.” 

“Oh, such a shame, such a shame. You don’t believe me?” 

“No,” Kokichi says, almost against his will. “I do.”

Then freezes. 

Monokuma smiles, and a horrible feeling begins to grow from the bottom of his stomach, his earlier tears replaced with a kind of fear he’s never really felt before. “I still think this is stupid,” he says distantly, but they both know that his retort is weak, lacking the usual vitriol he keeps burning at the back of his mind. 

“Puhuhu… looks like you’ve got the gullible disease! The liar won’t be able to tell what’s a liar anymore! Doesn’t that fill you with such _despair?”_ Monokuma cackles. 

Oh. 

_Oh._

“You’re wrong,” he lies, “I’m — I was lying earlier, you know. As _if_ I’d believe you!” He tries to push his face to smile demonically, but finds himself strangely unable to. 

“Are you sure _I’m_ the one that’s lying right now? What’s a lie anyways, if you have to believe in everything I say? Or your classmates?” 

_“Stop —_ just _stop._ I hate liars, you know?” Kokichi giggles hysterically. “You did way more than make me just gullible.” _I don’t cry. Not like this. Not about DICE._

Monokuma tilts his head. “No, no, I did nothing else! The motive wouldn’t be very fair if I gave you two symptoms now, wouldn’t it? Puhuhu… if you’re referring to becoming, _ahem,_ emotional about the situation, maybe this is just a side effect of a side effect! Maybe… you’ve begun to believe in things that you thought were a lie before? Or maybe the things you thought were true are actually a lie! Who knows? Not me, I can tell you that. Or, am I lying?” 

Kokichi stays silent. Monokuma puts up his hands again. 

“Now, I’m sure you’re _dying_ to know if there’s a cure, so I’m happy to announce that _yes,_ there is! They say to fight fire with fire, and so to fight the despair disease there _must_ be despair! You heard that right, it’s _murder!_ If the killing game starts, I will cure everyone and you will all go back to normal. But you shouldn’t wait — the disease is infectious. Who knows what might happen if the entire school gets sick!” 

He can’t help it — Kokichi laughs. He laughs, and laughs, and _laughs,_ until he starts to cough from the force of it. He doesn’t even know what he finds so funny, anymore. The fact that he’s been rendered useless because of this stupid _disease?_ The fact that he’s suddenly at the complete mercy of his classmates? He wonders if the audience is enjoying themselves. If they’re gouging themselves on popcorn and torture porn as Kokichi and the rest of them dance like marionettes, tangled up in the threads laid out by the ringleader with no escape in sight. 

He’s so _tired_ of acting. Of pretending he’s happy, that he’s having fun. He wonders for how much longer he can keep up his cheery little facade while sick without losing his mind — or maybe he’s already lost it! It certainly feels that way, and Kokichi finds that he can’t stop smiling. 

Maybe being gullible will make lying to himself easier. 

Kokichi takes a deep breath, then attempts to gain some control of the situation. “So, you’ve gotten bored with us already? The killing game hasn’t even started yet, y’know. Isn’t changing our personalities like this a _bit_ preemptive? Is… Is the audience even going to be happy with such a _boring_ opening like this?” He lets his smile twist, and this time, it works. “I’ve gotta say, you must be _really_ desperate if you’re bringing out such a lame motive like this! I mean, you can only beat a dead horse so many times, right? Even _I_ know when to not use the same old joke over and over again.”

Once again, there’s silence. Maybe Kokichi’s spoken out of turn. He closes his eyes, not caring anymore. He wants to melt away into the blankets, into the floor, until there’s nothing left. The fever _hurts_ like a steady, pounding drum at the base of his skull. 

“Hm. You’re very interesting,” Monokuma states plainly. “So, let’s put on a good performance, with everything we’ve got! The so-called _audience_ is waiting for your call!” 

Monokuma laughs one last time, before disappearing without a trace. 

... Well then. At least he has peace and quiet now. 

Kokichi, too tired to even get back into bed properly, leans further into the floor and lets himself think about DICE again. It hurts, but it also helps, in a strange way. He lets the lie lull himself to sleep. 

For once, he has a peaceful dream. 

* * *

Kokichi wakes a second time to heavy pounding at his door. 

It’s daytime now, streaks of light coming through his windows. Passing out on the floor hasn’t done his back any favors, and he groans, shivering as he tries to piece together hazy memories of the night before. His limbs feel like molten sugar, dissolving into wisps of air as he struggles to untangle himself from his blankets. 

The knocking persists, and Kokichi is about to yell at whoever’s there to leave him alone, when he belatedly remembers the situation he’s in. 

“Ouma-kun?” A voice calls, distant and soft. It’s Kaede, voice laced with worry. “Are you in there? You didn’t come to breakfast today…” 

Kokichi’s always been paranoid, but the absolute _fear_ and distrust that grips at his chest is unfamiliar, palms sweaty for reasons other than his cold. His heart feels louder than the steady pulsing in his head, and he stays perfectly still as Kaede tries to open his door. _Not a sound,_ he thinks to himself, _not a sound, or you’re dead._

“He should be…” another voice says, and he’s both touched that _Shuichi Saihara_ would go out of his way to get him, and stressed because he’s the _last_ person Kokichi wants to see at the moment. Not when he’s like this. Kokichi can hear him shuffling, and another knock comes through. “Ouma-kun, we just want to make sure you’re okay.”

 _Oh,_ he thinks distantly, and his nerves dissipate so quickly at the reassurance that he feels a little dizzy. _He just wants to make sure I’m okay. Nothing is wrong._

(Something is horribly, _horribly_ wrong. He should not open the door.) 

“Do I need to break the door down?” A third voice, sharp all around the edges. _Maki Harukawa._

Kokichi somehow gets up from the floor, and opens the door. 

He realizes a second too late that if he wants to act normal, he should’ve tried to fix his hair or adjust his clothes before going to face them. As the door swings open, Kaede, Shuichi, and Maki all stare at him with eyes that are too knowing, too _seeing._ He feels exposed as he stands there, weaknesses laid out bare, unable to hide his sickness and fear and _pain_ as he leans against the doorframe heavily. 

He’s always been paranoid… but Shuichi said that they’re just here to check up on him. So, he believes him, _has_ to— 

.. _.has to?_ Since when did he— 

“Ouma-kun!” Kaede gasps, breaking through his thoughts. She looks worried, eyes drawn down as she covers her hands in shock. 

“That’s my name, yep,” he says weakly, flashing what he hopes is a convincing smile. The air outside his room is chilly, and he shudders against it, tongue sticking to the back of his throat as he tries to clear his throat through chattering teeth. “I’m sick! And delirious, maybe.”

He’s not sure why he’s offered that information. 

“Ah… I had hoped we were wrong. That’s three confirmed,” Kaede says, turning to face the other two. As if Kokichi isn’t there. He wishes he could cross his arms in mock offence, but when he tries to he feels himself slip a little forward instead, unsteady on his feet. 

Shuichi just blinks at him, hand on his chin. “Is… that your strain?” He asks, serious. _Ever the detective,_ Kokichi thinks wryly, _getting straight to the point and asking the important questions._

 _“Yep,”_ Kokichi sing-songs and tries to nod, although what happens is more of a head roll. “I’m barely lucid as we speak! I think you three should just leave me alone, so I can rest in peace. My precious beauty sleep was interrupted, y’know!” 

“For someone who’s supposedly delirious, you seem surprisingly self-aware,” Maki says. Her eyes cut through Kokichi like blades of steel, and he feels a chill go down his spine. “Don’t lie.” 

“Harumaki is _so_ scary. Who even invited her?” he whines, but his head pulses heavily at her words. _Don’t lie,_ she had said. 

If he had the energy, he’d be laughing his ass off. _What a horrible fucking joke._

“Ouma-kun, please… if you know what strain you have, it’d be really helpful,” Shuichi tries again. Kokichi makes the mistake of _looking_ at him, then, because the way Shuichi’s facing him head on, hat upwards and lips thin with determination, it’s just — it’s just _too much._

He can’t handle this anymore. 

“Y-you three are so mean, you know?” He starts, almost hysterical. He’s laughing. Or sobbing, maybe. Both are the same to him anyways. “I just wanted to sleep in for once, and now you’re all trying to figure me out… take _advantage_ of me while I’m like this… it’s just too _cruel!_ I-I don’t care if you bully me since you do it all the time, but this is too much, really, just a bit too much. Do you get off on seeing me like this? _Huh?_ Well, I’m not Iruma-chan, so you three can _fuck off_ , maybe. Maybe. I don’t know.” 

He knows he’s rambling, _panicking,_ his own fear feeding into more fear, but he can’t shut himself up. His head hurts, _everything_ hurts _,_ and he feels like a wheel that’s popped off, spinning and spinning on its axis but never going anywhere. “If you really think that I’ll just sit here while—”

“No, no, you’ve got it all wrong, Ouma-kun!” Kaede rushes to interrupt him. Kokichi immediately goes quiet, and she clasps her hands together, letting out a nervous laugh. “W-we just care about you. Like Saihara-kun said, we’re here to make sure you’re okay, nothing else. Promise! So… we need you to be honest, and let us know what strain you have. _Please._ Or else we won’t know how to help. And that’s _all_ we want to do.” 

He stands there, looking at Kaede with calculating eyes. It feels like his brain is lagging as he parses through her sugary-sweet words, looking for any taste of a lie. Any weak points or contradictions. 

“Really?” He ends up asking, and he hates how softly his voice comes out. 

Kaede looks surprised at his response, before schooling her expression back to neutrality. “Really.” 

Kokichi tries seeing through her again, and finds nothing. 

“Alright then… fine,” he finally sighs, and the fight drains out of him faster than the three of them can blink. They look surprised, Maki especially, but he can’t bring himself to care at this point. Kaede’s kindness fills him with a strange warmth, one he never thought he’d experience in the killing game, and he finds the truth spilling out of his mouth before he can stop himself. 

“Well _surprise!_ I have the gullible disease! I can’t tell who’s lying anymore, and everyone seems so nice. Heh, Monokuma’s such a _bitch,_ right? He said it was funny.” Kokichi sobers for a second. “I didn’t think it was funny.” 

Kaede, Maki, and Shuichi all blink at him. 

Kokichi blinks back, then sneezes. 

“Oh god,” Kaede finally says. “We’re fucked, aren’t we?” 

* * *

Shuichi Saihara has a headache. 

The day had started out normally enough, he supposes. The sound of the Monokubs’ morning announcement, Kaede waiting for him outside, their slow and leisurely walk to the dining hall. As much as he hates to admit it, Shuichi’s become accustomed to life at the Ultimate Academy for Gifted Juveniles. Monokuma always tries to get the killing game started, of course, but somehow no one has died yet. He might even say life is relatively peaceful around here.

Maybe that’s the problem, really, that he’s gotten complacent in his time here. He should’ve expected something to happen sooner or later. 

It begins with Kaito, who stares directly at Shuichi as soon as he enters the dining hall and cheerily says: “Hey, Saihara-kun. I’m going to kill you!” 

Before he can even process Kaito’s words, the astronaut immediately turns to Maki with a waxy smile that trembles slightly under her deathly glare. “Hey Harumaki, I’m doing totally great here. Please let me keep talking!”

Maki doesn’t even bother to respond, turning to Shuichi with pleading eyes. “Help. Me.” 

Then, _Himiko_ comes running in, laughing maniacally while releasing doves from her hat. She jumps onto the table then, in an attempt to convince an obviously disgruntled Ryoma into playing 52 Pick-up before collapsing on top of Rantaro’s breakfast, spilling milk everywhere. 

So, an eventful morning to say the least. If it weren’t for the literal proof in front of his eyes, he’d never believe a word of Monokuma’s explanation. 

Now there’s Kokichi, who’s arms are wrapped weakly around his neck while Shuichi attempts to piggy-back him to their chosen place of quarantine: the game room in the basement. For someone who supposedly has the _gullible_ disease, getting him to cooperate had been harder than expected.

Shuichi had thought that gathering the infected and creating a make-shift “sick room” would be for the best, but as Kokichi abruptly sits up, almost sending the both of them to the ground, he begrudgingly wonders if this is really a good idea. 

_“O-Ouma-kun,”_ Shuichi hisses, struggling to keep the other balanced. A part of him regrets sending Kaede and Maki on ahead without him, but Kokichi had insisted on being alone with him, strangely enough. “Please stop moving around so much. You’re only making this harder for the both of us.”

Kokichi actually has the audacity to _pout_ at that, settling his cheek against Shuichi’s shoulder. His forehead shines with sweat, and his breaths are labored as he lets out a dramatic sigh. “H-hey… I’m not the one who asked to be carried like this, y’know? Not that I’d usually mind, but, this sorta sucks.” His eyes fill with tears. “I just wanna go back to my _room,_ and now you’re bullying me into going to— to, uh…” He frowns, as if struggling to recall the information. 

“The game room?” Shuichi offers, despite himself. “And— ah, I’m sorry, it’s just you almost collapsed as soon as we left the dorms. And well… your… _height_ makes it difficult to comfortably support y-you in any other way, so—”

“Saihara-chan’s making fun of my height now…” Kokichi sniffles. “You’re such a meanie, you know that?” 

“I wasn’t really…”

“Anyways, I don’t want to go to the game room. Or anywhere else. They don’t even have any good movies there! We should definitely rest in our _separate_ rooms instead.” Kokichi says decidedly. 

Shuichi frowns. “Ouma-kun, I’ve already explained why it’s necessary that we go with everyone else.” _And it was only a few minutes ago, too._

“Eh, really? I don’t remember, you should tell me again… _orrr_ you can take me back to my room!” Kokichi looks strangely desperate as he tries to sit up on Shuichi’s back again. 

_...Okay, what’s happening here?_

If it weren’t for the hazy look in his eyes, Shuichi would’ve written off Kokichi’s strange behavior as a lie. Under the influence of the despair disease though, it seems that his confusion and forgetfulness is genuine — which bewilders him even more, because isn’t Kokichi supposed to have the _gullible_ disease? Inattention shouldn’t be a symptom, then, but there they are.

“Ouma-kun. I’m only going to explain this one more time, so please try to remember,” Shuichi says slowly, taking a break by the entrance of the school. For now, he just needs to convince Kokichi to join everyone by the basement. He can figure out the specifics of how the disease works later. “Monokuma explained that the despair disease is infectious, so we all agreed that it’s safer to have you three quarantined in one place. We’ll watch over you in shifts of two or three, while the rest of us look for a cure. I know it’s not the most… _ideal,_ but right now we don’t have much of a choice.”

“If it’s infectious, wouldn’t it be better to keep us locked up in one place to take care ourselves?”

Shuichi tilts his head at that, carefully considering his words. Kokichi asked him the same exact thing last time he explained their plan, and he hadn’t bothered giving a proper answer, then. Perhaps explaining it in detail will help the information stick in his head. 

“Actually… I don’t think so,” he starts slowly. “This disease clearly isn’t normal or natural, so I wouldn’t be surprised if Monokuma has some way of manipulating how it works. The symptoms are a bit _too_ targeted for each person to have a so-called “random” strain, and Monokuma promised that he would “ _end”_ the disease once someone died, rather than _“provide the cure.”_ I think his phrasing is a hint that he’s probably pre-mediated the spread of this disease. Meaning there’s not much we can do to stop it, I don’t think.” 

A pause. Then— “If it truly _is_ infectious, in the way we expect, having equal shifts is probably the best bet. If we each spend the same amount of time with the sick, the next victim should be random.” Shuichi shifts on his feet. “Getting everyone sick at the same time wouldn’t be an effective motive, after all. I think he wants to use the fear of getting sick to motivate people to start the game, which means the spread of the disease will be limited to one or two at a time… erm.”

Shuichi trails off when he notices Kokichi watching him with wide, innocent eyes — an expression that’s never looked genuine until now. It makes him feel embarrassed for some reason, cheeks flushed from the attention, and a part of him wishes he had free hands to pull down his hat. 

(But another part of him finds that he doesn’t mind, strangely enough. Kokichi’s gaze is intense, not unlike those eyes from all those years ago, but instead of hate and malice there’s something sweeter, bright and soft yet somehow _electrifying._

He wants to flinch and turn away. He wants to step a little closer. 

...is the despair disease affecting him too?) 

He shakes the strange thoughts away, clearing his throat. “B-but, I don’t know for sure… those are just my deductions. I could totally be wrong, but I just thought— we can’t exactly leave you three on your _own_ either, that’d just be cruel, and—” 

“I believe you,” Kokichi states plainly, expression blank. 

Shuichi shuts up. 

“Hm… but maybe that’s just the disease talking, right?” Kokichi closes his eyes, a small smile on his face now. “Still, you should trust your detective’s intuition more, Saihara-chan. I was just testing you, but it looks like you’ve figured out more than expected.”

Before he can ask what Kokichi means by that, the other giggles to himself. “Ah, and don’t worry about getting sick. You’re one of the few lucky ones that are immune! I'm jealous.” 

“...What makes you say that?” Shuichi hesitantly asks, genuinely curious. 

“Hm. _Wellll,_ it’s a secret, but I guess I can tell you this one time. Since you’re oh-so kindly carrying me when I’m a mess like this…” Kokichi lifts his head so that he’s whispering directly into Shuichi’s ear, voice slightly unsteady as he speaks. “It’s because you’re the _pro-tag-on-ist!_ And our main character can’t get sick, no?”

_...and okay, he’s spouting cryptic nonsense. The disease only makes it harder for me to know whether to take him seriously or not._

Shuichi’s about to start moving again, Kokichi seemingly placated, only to be stopped once again by a hand tugging at the back of his shirt.

“Hey, can I ask another question?” 

He has to bite back a groan. “You’ve already been asking plenty.” 

“This one is serious. You can’t lie to me about this one.” 

“I-I wasn’t lying before…” 

“I believe you, but I wanna hear you say it again, Saihara-chan. Hm, how about this? If you answer seriously, I’ll let you finally take me to the game room! That’s a fair trade, right? _Right?”_

He frowns, wondering what could’ve brought _this_ on now. “Okay, fine. I promise I won’t lie to you, no matter what you ask.” _Although, I hope it’s nothing embarrassing._

“Okay,” Kokichi says, quieter. “Then... are you going to kill me?” 

Shuichi’s veins turn to ice.

“Wh— of _course not,_ I-I would never,” he stammers out, completely bewildered. “Where did you even _get_ that idea?!” 

Kokichi stays silent, as if he’s having trouble processing his words. He’s not sure how long they stand there, under the shade as the mid-afternoon sun shines above them, but it’s long enough for his heart to settle from the sudden inquiry. Instead, he feels a strange mix of confusion, curiosity, and mostly concern, as the seconds drag on. 

“Well… I wasn’t sure what answer I was expecting but... I suppose that’s a good thing, my beloved Saihara-chan!” Kokichi finally says after a moment, and while his usual childish enthusiasm is back, there’s a strange quality to his tone that Shuichi can’t quite place. “I’m glad. Now I don’t have to kill you in retaliation! That’s a huge relief, y’know? You’re one of my favorite detectives around here, after all.”

Shuichi ignores Kokichi’s attempts to steer the conversation elsewhere, and turns his head to look directly at him. “Do you… really not trust me that much?” He asks quietly. It hurts, for some strange reason, the idea that Kokichi thinks Shuichi might kill him. 

Kokichi only shows surprise for a second, before laughing dryly. “You’re an interesting one, Saihara-chan. But, to answer your question, I’d say it’s more like… I think I trust you too much, really. But who knows? I could be _lying,_ after all.”

Kokichi goes quiet then, grabbing onto him a little tighter. 

Shuichi, unsure of what else to do, finds himself squeezing back before making his way towards the school basement. The rest of the trip is decidedly silent, neither of them speaking a word until they’ve reached their destination with little fuss. 

He’s not sure what he wants to say to that, really. His thoughts are jumbled with thoughts of Kokichi, the others, and the despair disease, and there’s _so much_ to work through. Shuichi’s a little glad when Kirumi appears, waiting for them by the entrance of the game room with a wet towel already in hand. 

“Ehh, I’m with mom first?” Kokichi whines, kicking his feet like a child. “I wanted to spend more time with Shumai!” 

“I’ll have my shift a little later, Ouma-kun,” Shuichi says apologetically, urging him to get off his back. Kokichi stumbles a bit as his feet touch solid ground again, and surprisingly doesn’t push away Kirumi’s offered hand of help. 

“I suppose you’ll have to do for now…”

“Well, thank you for retrieving Ouma-san,” Kirumi says politely, ignoring Kokichi’s quips like usual. “Kaito and Himiko have already settled in, so Tenko and I can begin the first shift now.” 

“Ooh, the others are Kaito and Himiko? What strain do _they_ have? I wanna know, I wanna know!” 

“According to Monokuma, Kaito has the liar’s disease, and Himiko has the energetic disease. And for you, I assume you have…?”

Kokichi only sticks out his tongue at that, so Shuichi hurries to answer. “Ah, he has the gullible disease, apparently. Please be careful, I… he may not act like it, but I think he will truly believe whatever’s told to him.”

“That was a lie, Tojo-chan,” Kokichi lies. “All I have is the normal disease. I can’t be manipulated by anyone, ever! So, don’t even try, okay mom?!” 

A thought strikes Shuichi, then, and it sounds so ridiculous he almost dismisses it. _Almost._

But the idea of it still lingers around in his mind, a haunting sort of theory that does strange things to his chest. 

Could Kokichi have been so adamant about staying in his room because he had been _afraid?_

...No. Kokichi always seems to thrive in the chaos and potential bloodshed of the killing game. The despair disease should _excite_ him. But, when Shuichi, Kaede and Maki had first seen him open that door to his room, his face had evidence of— 

“So, Saihara-chan, thanks for dropping me off at prison!” Kokichi says brightly. Despite his sickness, he seems to be his usual self, and suddenly it unnerves him, this sort of plastic energy. 

“Y-yeah, um… again, I’m sorry,” he sighs, although he’s not sure if the apology is directed to Kirumi or Kokichi. “I suppose I’ll be taking my leave, now.”

“I’ll make sure he is in good hands,” Kirumi says kindly. Kokichi simply mutters something unintelligible under his breath. 

“I know he will be,” he answers, swallowing down the uneasy feelings in his chest before turning around and walking away. No point in looking back now. And like he said, he’ll have his shift soon anyways. He vaguely hears Kokichi giggling before being led inside the quarantine room, door closing shut with a soft _click._

It’s at the top of the staircase that he leans against the walls and thinks, _shit._

Kokichi’s always been confusing, but the despair disease only makes everything _worse._ It hurts his head, honestly, trying to figure him out, and it’s both infuriating and strangely intriguing. He isn’t sure how to feel about it all. 

_...But, no point in mulling over it now._ There’s a lot of things he needs to consider if he wants to stop this motive like all the others. 

First, the mystery of the despair disease. Whether a cure without a killing is possible or not, who the next victim might be. He’s never dealt with a case like _this_ before, but he supposes he’s never been put in a killing game before, either. 

Shuichi feels some strange resolve in him solidify as he takes one, last deep breath before heading out. He needs to find Kaede first, and then they can start looking for clues. 

**Investigation, START!**


	2. liar, liar, there is no love / in the feeling of dying out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahHHHH!!! how has this fic already hit 150+ kudos??!? thank you so, so much for the support everyone!. I'm glad many people seem to be enjoying this fic. I'm blown away by all the kind words and hope you guys enjoy this chapter as well. This one was... a struggle to write, for some reason?? idk I rewrote it about 5 times so uhh I hope it came out okay kajfdlkdssadjfla. 
> 
> tw// for vague, suicidal thoughts? again, please be careful, this will not be a happy fic for a while (sorry kokichi!) but I did my best to also sprinkle in some light-hearted moments! Anyways uhh that's enough from me, once again ty so much for all the kudos and I hope everyone had a very happy new year!

“Ouma-san,” Kirumi begins, “I only need you to sit still for a few seconds.”

Kokichi rolls his eyes, but obediently stops fidgeting so Kirumi can take his temperature — or well, _tries_ to, anyways. It doesn’t take long for him to start swinging his legs again, leaning forward on the makeshift sickbed (which is just the pool table with a few blankets laid out on top) as his thoughts begin to drift.

He knew, from the moment Shuichi told him that they would have the other students acting as caretakers, that he’d be uncomfortable. As Kirumi’s gloved hand tries to gently pry open his mouth, though, he realizes he’s severely underestimated by just how much. Some hazy, distant part of him _hates_ this: the clinical precision with which Kirumi handles him, the antiseptic smell that’s begun to permeate the room, the _premise_ of it all. He feels like a specimen being thoroughly picked apart, and his skin feels raw against the stifling air.

But it’s hard for him to grasp onto anything concrete through the haze of sickness. He feels strangely detached from his body, like a camera out of focus, and the only thing he’s sure of is a distant, buzzing sensation that _something_ isn’t quite right.

The thermometer in his mouth beeps; Kirumi writes something down on a clipboard. He wishes she weren’t wearing a medical mask so he could read her expression better, then wonders where the hell they even got all these medical supplies anyways.

Kokichi decides to focus on the rest of the room, in hopes that it’ll distract him from Kirumi while also giving him clues as to what to do now that he’s stuck here.

It’s nicer than he expected, honestly. The run-down arcade machines and foliage have all been cleared away, providing a nice, spacious area for futons to be laid out. Upon Tenko’s insistence, the boys are expected to spend the night in the smaller AV room, while the girls — which consists of only Himiko so far — are set up to stay in the game room. Not that he cares too much — as long as he ignores whatever inane drivel Kaito might have to say, he’ll be fine. He watches with mild curiosity as Himiko skips around the room while singing some sort of children cartoon’s theme song.

Kirumi is now shining a flashlight down his throat. Himiko trips over what appears to be Kaito’s prone figure on the floor.

Kokichi doesn’t even have time to laugh before Tenko shoots out like a bullet from nowhere, stepping on the astronaut in the process.

 _“HEY!_ Momota-kun, I don’t know why you’re on the floor right now, but hurt Yumeno-chan one more time and I’ll hurt _YOU!”_

Kirumi turns, and even through her mask Kokichi can see stress lines around her eyes. “Momota-san, do you need help?” she asks mildly.

“Hngn,” Kaito says.

“Hehehe, it’s fine Chabashira-chan!” Himiko giggles, undeterred as Tenko fusses over her for injuries. “Momota-kun is just jealous of my singing abilities, and that’s why he tripped me.”

“Yep, that’s exactly it. Please keep singing, Yumeno-san.” Kaito looks physically pained as he says this.

“You sound like you want to get Aikido-flipped,” Tenko murmurs, but one stern look from Kirumi is all it takes for her to back off. Himiko begins skipping around the room again.

“…Anyways,” Kokichi starts, bringing the maid’s attention back to himself. “Can we get this over with? I wanna go bully Momota-chan over there! He looks _reaaaally_ pathetic on the floor right now, y’know?”

Kaito glances up at the sound of his name and scowls. “I-I love and appreciate you, Ouma-kun.”

Kokichi’s brain promptly short circuits.

“Ouma. Momota.” Kirumi’s voice is incredibly thin. “We can have this discussion later. First of all, Chabashira-san — help Momota-san get off the floor. And Ouma-san, please do not antagonize our classmates.”

 _“Bo-ring.”_ Kokichi pouts, and tries not to think about Kaito’s sudden love confession too much.

It hurts his head, being in the same room with all of them like this. _I thought that stupid space idiot liked murder girl? What am I supposed to do with this information?_ He makes a quick, mental note to be as awful as possible to Kaito in order to dissuade any further feelings.

“Why are you even lying on the floor?” Tenko complains, picking Kaito up with surprisingly little effort.

“I happened to, uh, n- _not_ trip.” Kaito blinks rapidly, as if frustrated with himself. “Lying is… so easy, man. _So—_ damn easy.”

“Momota-chan, you sound like you’re choking,” Himiko supplies unhelpfully. 

Kokichi is about to make a quip of his own, but is interrupted when Kirumi gently grabs at his chin again. He flinches from the sudden contact and scowls when Kirumi sends him an apologetic glance.

Kirumi’s eyebrows furrow. “I am sorry if this makes you uncomfortable, but I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do. I need to properly assess everyone’s current state of health so we can prescribe the proper medication and hopefully find some hints for a cure. I know it is not ideal, but in this situation, we have no other choice.” Kirumi finally lets his chin go.

“I’m not uncomfortable,” Kokichi says petulantly. “But _whatever_ mom, I don’t really care. Are we done yet?”

“Not quite,” Kirumi sighs. “I just have a few, simple questions left to ask.”

“Okay, but I get to ask a question first!” Kokichi leans forward again; he wants to take this chance to gain some information, wants to grill Kirumi before he gets grilled himself, _needs_ answers — _what are Kaito and Himiko’s other symptoms? What are you writing down on your clipboard? Do you think we’ll be able to find a cure without killing anyone?_

“Do you hate me?” he asks instead, the worlds inexplicably falling out of his mouth before he can stop himself.

If Kirumi is surprised by the inquiry, he can’t tell. “No,” she says simply.

 _Ah._ Well. He’s not sure what answer he was expecting, or why he asked, really, but he files the information away at the back of his mind. It’s important to know these sorts of things, he rationalizes. If Kirumi doesn’t hate him, then he can’t quite use her for _those_ plans, which is unfortunate, but it also means that—

“You won’t try to kill me then, right?” He continues, more for himself than anyone else. Tenko, who’s been trying to get Kaito into a spare futon nearby, overhears and sends him a dirty glare.

“Excuse me? That’s not even a funny joke, you degenerate male! Tojo-chan would _never_ do something so horrid — apologize, right now!”

Tenko’s words lodge themselves like bricks in his stomach. He wishes he could argue back. He wishes he could point out that none of them _really_ know each other, and that with the right setting or motive, any of them could become killers. He wishes he could just be able to _tell who’s lying to him or not,_ but he _can’t,_ and while there’s an intrinsic part of him that will _never_ trust anyone here fully, he feels a twinge of guilt for having accused Kirumi of potential murder.

All because of Tenko’s stupid ideals. He knows, vaguely, that this isn’t _right,_ but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t believe her. If she says Kirumi wouldn’t murder, then— then she wouldn’t, right?

“I wasn’t joking, y’know,” Kokichi says, instead of any of that. “But o-kay! Just so you know, Tojo-chan, I really hate liars. _Sooo,_ you better be telling the truth right now!”

“I can assure you, I am.” Kirumi’s voice betrays nothing. “Now, if you have nothing left to ask, may I begin my own inquiry?”

Kokichi just shrugs. “Eh, I suppose so. Ask away, super maid!”

His skin crawls under her sudden, piercing glaze.

Kokichi vaguely knows he’s supposed to be telling the truth here, if he wants to provide accurate data to contribute to a potential cure, but some desperate part of him struggles against this idea. He’s supposed to be a _liar,_ he thinks, and Kokichi doesn’t even remember why at this point, only feels that if he lets go of that part of himself, there’ll be nothing left.

If not a liar, then who is he supposed to be? What part is he supposed to play? He’s getting confused at the script, all of his lines and cue cards blending together into one, big indecipherable mess.

Does your head hurt? He shrugs. Are you in pain? Yep! Wait, should he have lied about that? Kirumi writes something down. He wishes he had asked what she’s written, instead of whatever it was he said earlier. Do you feel nausea, headache, or dizziness? Kokichi shakes his head through it all, feeling like a broken bobblehead, his brain all scrambled up inside his skull. Kirumi’s asking another question, but it feels far away.

On a scale of one to ten, she starts, how likely are you to— 

— to _grab a knife and stab yourself if asked?_

 _Oh,_ a ten, but if the knife is pointed at someone else the number is variable. Maybe you’ll have to roll a die to find out? He giggles at his own joke. Tries to think if there’s anyone that might manipulate him in that way. Kirumi could, but— Tenko said Kirumi isn’t a murderer, so he’s safe, he’s _safe,_ there’s nothing to worry about, maybe. 

…Ah. What was the original question again? 

Kirumi’s saying something to him, but Kokichi doesn’t care to listen anymore. He won’t have to trust anyone if he can’t hear what they’re saying. He won’t have to believe in everyone if he forgets what they’ve told him. He has to protect himself here, has to make sure no one has the advantage, because how _boring_ would it be if he were the first victim?

DICE watches from the corners of the room. He wants to wave at them, but he’s on center stage at the moment, and breaking character is guaranteed death. So, he smiles instead, but it’s hard to pull it off when his head hurts so much. He _hates_ Monokuma, _hates_ the killing game, _hates_ this stupid despair disease, but that’s to be expected. He has to act like he loves it, keep the audience on their toes, pretend that his brain isn’t splitting at the seams.

Something’s shaking him. Kokichi thinks he might be dying, _melting,_ but he opens his eyes (and when did he close them, again?) and Kirumi’s there, looking a little scared. Someone’s laughing, the sound horribly grating against his ears, and he belatedly realizes it’s _himself,_ and _shit,_ he’s acting a little too unhinged right now. He needs to stop, needs to _control_ himself, but even as he covers his mouth with both hands, his shoulders won’t stop shaking.

“I-It’s the despair disease!” Kokichi stutters out, hoping he doesn’t sound completely insane. He bites his lips hard enough to draw blood, and the pain is enough to snap him out of his laughing fit.

“I…” Kirumi trails off, uncertain, but it only takes a second for her distress to flatten and disappear as she calmly collects herself. “I just have one last question for you.” She clasps her hands together while tilting her head slightly. He hates how genuinely concerned she looks, all of a sudden. “Are you okay, Ouma-san?” 

The question almost makes him laugh again. Kokichi doesn’t think he’s been _‘okay’_ ever since he woke up in a locker, confused and scared and lost with nowhere to go but up the walls. The situation certainly hasn’t gotten any better since, and the concept of _‘okay’_ seems so completely foreign that he’s offended Kirumi’s even asking. 

He keeps the thought to himself, though, and somehow swallows the manic energy lingering in his veins, shooting her a classic grin instead.

“Depends on what you mean by okay, Tojo-chan. If we’re talking about how I feel, then I feel _terrible_ because you’ve been interrogating me!” Tears begin to form in his eyes. “A-are we done bullying me yet?”

Kirumi tilts her head, as if to say something, but before Kokichi can think of another protest she gives him a soft smile and slightly bows. “Yes. That is all I wanted to ask. Thank you for your cooperation, Ouma-san.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice — Kokichi practically jumps off the examination table and immediately regrets it once he hits the floor, feet unsteady. Stupid despair disease strain aside, the feeling of just being sick isn’t exactly the easiest to deal with either.

Kokichi tries to take a deep breath. _Slow and steady,_ he reminds himself.

He’ll have to play his cards carefully if he wants to survive this, but he’s always been good at games. The despair disease might have made him gullible, but it hasn’t made him _reckless_ — he can wait.

But in the meantime…

“Oii, _Yumeno-chan~!”_ Kokichi calls, skipping over to the young mage. She startles at his voice, dropping a few playing cards in her hands. She’s settled enough to start a card game with Tenko and Kaito, it seems, and Tenko sends him a scathing look for interrupting them.

He ignores her and pumps his fists excitedly. “I’m bored! Teach me some magic, pretty please?”

He’ll assimilate first, pretend he’s just as useless as the others who are sick. Then… then— He’ll figure out the rest later, perhaps. The plan is horribly vague, he knows, but he clings onto it desperately anyways.

Kaito laughs, rough and scratchy and miserable, bundled in his own pile of blankets to the side. “I— sure, this seems like a _g-great_ idea.”

“Wow, even space-idiot agrees with me!”

“Yeah, I’m a space idiot,” Kaito says sadly.

The three of them continue to converse, and Tenko turns to Kirumi, expression deadly serious for once. “Okay, I love Himiko and all, but is our shift over yet? Tenko… Tenko needs a break.”

Kokichi smiles at her desperate tone. It’s a lie but maybe, _maybe,_ he can have some fun with this too. 

* * *

Time passes, and Kokichi inevitably finds himself getting used to the routine of his new life in the game room.

After Kirumi and Tenko’s shift, Gonta and Ryoma come by. When Kokichi asks for something to write with, Gonta ends up bringing enough coloring utensils to supply an entire elementary school. He spends most of their first day together drawing fake inventions and hiding the real ones under his pile of ray gun variations. If Ryoma notices, he doesn’t say — not that Kokichi’s worried about what he might do anyways. The thing about having no reason to live means you generally won’t have a reason to kill either.

He watches Gonta carefully, though. Most would say that he’s too kind-hearted to attempt murder, but Kokichi knows that his natural naivety can both dangerous and useful. There’s no telling what he might do if he were infected with the despair disease, or if he were pushed hard enough.

After them is Miu and Rantaro. He slips Miu a few blueprints and degrades her enough so that she’ll get started on them right away. Rantaro eyes them suspiciously as they talk, and if Kokichi had his own way, he’d wait much longer before involving the inventor in his plans, try to discuss the ideas in private, but there’s not much he can do at this point. He just shoots Rantaro a scathing smile and hopes he gets the message.

The man has his own secrets, Kokichi knows. He should be allowed to have a few of his own.

Korekiyo and Kiibo are an… _interesting_ duo, to say the least. He feels the most on edge with them, because, well. Korekiyo is Korekiyo, and Kiibo is a robot.

(Not that he inherently has anything against robots. Kokichi just thinks that Kiibo’s existence could be… _questioned_ a bit more. He might act innocent, but Kokichi knows better than to trust a glorified electrical appliance. Strong AI or not, there exists the very real possibility of a camera or an audio recording function stuffed _who knows where_ in that robotic body.

He tries not to think about how if it weren’t for the killing game, Kokichi might actually consider Kiibo a potential friend.)

On the surface, there’s nothing wrong with Korekiyo — his hobbies could be considered unconventional, maybe, but that’s about it. Kokichi usually isn’t one to judge either, but there’s just something _off_ about his demeanor that prevents him from being completely comfortable around the anthropologist. Korekiyo spends most of his time caring for Himiko instead, thankfully enough. Kokichi just pretends to be too sick to talk and spends their shift sleeping.

He can’t help his sigh of relief when he sees that the next group consists of Tsumugi, Angie, and Maki. That’s more opportunities to avoid interacting with the assassin, and he’s sure the feeling is mutual. Most of the time, it’ll be Angie taking care of him, or Tsumugi, who’s so unnoticeable he sometimes doesn’t even realize she’s there. Maki, for some reason, always seems to be tending to Kaito, who always says that he doesn’t want her around.

(They’re so into each other it's disgusting. Kokichi thinks they’re both annoying idiots — and _no,_ he tells himself, it’s _not_ jealousy. Falling in love in a place like this means certain death, after all. It’s foolish and stupid and— _unavoidable sometimes,_ he supposes.

He doesn’t like to think about it.)

It’s a mixed group, this bunch, and he spends most of his time keeping to himself, letting Kaito and Himiko distract them while he stealthily observes. He doesn’t trust Maki, obviously, but Angie is a dangerous wildcard he needs to keep an eye on as well. Her devotion to her god is truly _something._ Tsumugi… well, Kokichi honestly knows very little about her, and doesn’t care to learn more either.

She’s a little _too_ boring to be in a killing game show like this, actually. Monokuma’s always on about making the game _interesting,_ so he wonders how or why she was chosen to be a participant.

 _Hm… well, whatever._ That’s not his biggest concern right now.

The bigger problem is Shuichi, who comes with Kaede — is _always_ with Kaede, actually, like some sort of package deal, a two-for-one special. They’ve stuck together since the beginning of the game, and even though he’s probably seen the two of them a thousand times by now, the sight still fills him with a strange, bitter feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He’s not sure why, honestly. Kaede and Shuichi aren’t even together — _yet,_ his brain supplies — and Kokichi isn’t anywhere close to being in Kaede’s position. It makes no sense for him to be feeling this way, a horrible, ugly sort of envy that eats him up from the inside. Shuichi finds him interesting on a good day, and tolerates him a little better than the others, but that’s about it. He’s shy, nervous, and never takes off his stupid hat, so he’s not sure why or when or _how_ he’s become enraptured by the detective and his soft smile and kind eyes, because. _Because—_

Because there’s no room for love within these walls. There’s no room for love, but with every day that passes, he finds himself slowly falling anyways.

He loves Shuichi’s intelligence, even if he tries to hide it. Quiet and unassuming, but never one to be underestimated, Shuichi Saihara is simply _interesting._ Underneath all those layers of crippling insecurity and doubt, he knows there exists something greater, something that shines even brighter than the morning sun, something darker than the starless sky. It mixes together, truth and lies, to create a shade of grey that he wishes he could sink his hands into, staining skin and bones. 

It’s selfish, but sometimes he likes to imagine that he could be the one to hold him close, to tell him it’ll be alright. That he believes in him, in his deduction skills; to offer his hand and work _together_ in getting out of his hell.

But Kaede’s there. Kaede’s there, and so is Kaito, and for some reason _Maki,_ and all the other students that are so much better for him than Kokichi could ever hope to be. Shuichi’s much too soft for someone like him _,_ who is made up of poison and daggers and lies and deceit. He’s nothing but flames, built to wreak havoc and break whatever he touches, whoever gets too close.

If he tries to hold Shuichi he’ll only burn the other, eat him up alive until there’s nothing good left. There’s nothing but venom and malice in his veins — he doesn’t _deserve him._

Not if he commits to his plans. Not if he’s going to win this killing game.

So, really, he should be happy Shuichi has someone like Kaede in his life, even if she’s a little too sugary-sweet for his tastes.

He should be happy, but as he watches Kaede over the days, he finds that he might hate her, actually.

She’s sweet, but overly so — optimistic to the point of rotting his teeth. He wants to grab the crumbling bits of leadership she’s managed to scrounge up for herself and crush it out of spite. He wants to shake her until she understands that all this talk of _working together_ and _becoming friends_ is only a detriment in the end.

He wants to save her from herself, because at this rate, he knows that she’ll burn out and disappear. A light that shines so brightly will only attract the enemy and blind close allies.

“Do you like him?” Kaede asks one random day, in the middle of switching out his wet towel. He feels his entire body freeze at the question.

“What,” he tries to deadpan, but his voice comes out embarrassingly high. He clears his throat, then speaks with more force. “You’re going to have to be a _little_ more specific than that, Akamatsu-chan!”

“Do you like Saihara-kun,” Kaede continues, and it’s not even a question anymore. There’s a cheeky smile on her face he wishes he could wipe off. “You can be honest with me, promise! I won’t tell anyone.”

“Fuck you,” he starts, and then to his horror: “So what if I do? Huh? Is there a problem with that?”

Silence. They stare at each other, and Kokichi feels an irrational pang of anger at the way Kaede’s smile grows.

He smiles back, all teeth. “If it weren’t for the despair disease,” Kokichi starts, voice low, “we would _not_ be having this discussion right now. You’re being awfully manipulative for someone who’s all about _friendship_ and _working together._ Although—” and his smile twists into something awful, “—as a fellow leader myself, I _do_ admit we use underhand tactics at times. Didn’t realize you had it in you to stoop so low as well!”

Kaede flinches at that. “I-I know you have the gullible disease, but please trust in me when I say I won’t tell Saihara-kun. I’m not— I’m not making fun of you either. I guess I just wanted to make, uh… some friendly conversation with you?” She gives him a sheepish grin.

“Then here’s a word of advice, with no tricks or lies.” Kokichi stares at his nails with indifference. _“Don’t._ You can go and play nice with everyone else, but I’m not interested in giving the ringleader what they want.”

He expects Kaede to brush off his warning like she always does, but surprisingly, she seems to be seriously considering Kokichi’s words. “What makes you say that?” She finally says, voice deliberate and neutral.

When Kokichi smiles this time, it’s a little more genuine. “Mmm, well — just think about it. This killing game was meant to be entertaining. What fun would it be if we were sad little chumps all the time? No, what the ringleader wants for us is to band together… and then to _rip_ us apart. It’s more satisfying that way, y’know?”

More silence as Kaede takes in his words. She’s being thoughtful. Or trying to, at least, and he appreciates the effort. “I don’t, actually,” Kaede sighs, shaking her head with a forlorn expression. “I really don’t understand you sometimes, Ouma-kun.”

“I never asked you to,” Kokichi whispers.

Kaede is interesting, _perfect,_ and that’s exactly the problem. He wouldn’t be surprised if she ended up the first victim.

He hates her for that too, honestly. She’s everything Shuichi needs, and one day, she’s going to leave him.

(It makes him sad, strangely enough.)

“Hey.” Kaede’s voice is hesitant now, her earlier teasing tone gone. “About Saihara-kun. I just wanted you to know that— that you can go for it, if you want.”

“Are we still talking about this?” Kokichi fake-yawns. “I’m not interested, sweetie. You’re free to have him to yourself.”

 _“Jeez,_ you don’t get it, do you? It’s not like that at all.” She pauses, and then her next words drop like iron balls. 

“He’s just a friend to me! I’m not really looking for a relationship— well, not with _him_ , at least.” 

Kokichi stares at Kaede with wide eyes.

His mind is spinning, a million useless thoughts come in at once, and he wants to demand the truth, because it’s too good to be true, but _it is,_ he believes her— 

“— _What_ ,” he manages to choke out. The information is somehow more devastating than Monokuma’s declaration of the despair disease motive, or figuring out the truth behind DICE, or any other horribly shitty thing that’s happened to him so far.

Kaede’s face is indiscernible now, and Kokichi instinctively runs his mouth. “I always knew you had a shitty sense of humor, but this is going pretty far, Akamatsu-chan! You’re a _horrible_ liar, you know? I mean, I have the gullible disease, and even _I_ can tell you’re lying!”

“But I’m not lying.” Kaede frowns. “You believe me, right?”

 _Yes. No. I don’t know._ Kokichi decides to change tactics. “I have a question for you then — _why are you doing this to me?”_

_Why are you torturing me?_

“Because, if you really do like Saihara-kun, you should at least _try_ to be better friends with him, you know?” Kaede looks down at the basin of water by her side, and he’s reminded that she’s here for a reason, that he can’t just make her go away in frustration with a few poor jokes. Unless he wants _Shuichi_ to be taking care of him instead and _that—_

That simply isn’t something he can handle at the moment.

“I don’t want to be the one that prevents you from doing that,” she continues, and he’s not sure what does it but suddenly, something in him _twists,_ raw and feral, and he finds himself inexplicably _furious._

“You know w-what? _Fuck you,”_ he stutters, and he’s trembling with so much rage he can barely contain his voice. “I hope you know that I _hate_ you, I _hate_ the way you are and I-I _hate—”_

“W-woah, calm down!” Kaede drops the towel in her hand in shock, and Kokichi realizes with horror that he’s _crying_ again. He covers his mouth and tries to hide his face in hopes that no one else will notice, but a pathetic sob leaves his mouth anyways, and he’s just so _angry_ at— at what, he’s not sure anymore, but it bubbles like burning lava in the pit of his stomach, vitriol in his veins.

 _This is why I shouldn’t be allowed to have Saihara-chan,_ he thinks bitterly to himself. Kaede’s hand hovers against his back, unsure if she should touch him in this state.

She doesn’t, in the end. He’s grateful.

“Um.” Kaede shifts on her feet, clearly uncomfortable. “I—”

“—Ahahaha, nope!” Kokichi interrupts her with a high-pitched giggle. “We’re not doing that right now. Just— _drop it._ Please.”

Kaede stares at him with wide eyes, and for a second he thinks he’s won, and that she’ll _finally_ leave him alone.

Instead, she offers a sad grimace. “What do you gain from pushing everyone away, Ouma-kun? You’re going to end up alone like this, you know.”

He keeps his head down so she can’t see his expression, whatever face it is he’s making. “Maybe that’s how it should be,” he says, and his voice comes out so quiet he’s not sure if she even hears him.

Kokichi looks up and immediately regrets it. The pity in her eyes is somehow worse than the idea that Kaede is letting him have Shuichi. Her kindness stings, like salt rubbed against an open wound.

He knows he’s made himself to become the villain, but _god,_ whenever he looks at Kaede it feels a little too real.

“You’re too good for this place,” he ends up saying, so uncharacteristically honest that she finally seems at a loss for words. “I think it’s a shame.”

Kaede just blinks down at him. 

In the distance, Himiko stands up too quickly from her bed and collapses onto the floor. Shuichi, who’s been busy trying to get Kaito to eat some breakfast, just shoots Kaede a desperate, panicked look that screams, _I have no idea what I’m doing, actually. Send help._

It’s cute. He hates him. He loves him. The two feelings mix painfully in his stomach. Or maybe, he’s just lying to himself? He can’t tell anymore.

Kaede gives one last look at Kokichi’s sickly figure and promises to be back to fix up his towel, before rushing ahead to help the unfortunate Himiko.

Kokichi watches her, steps confident and strong, and he distantly wonders how heavy her backpack must be, how tired she must feel from carrying everyone’s hopes and dreams with the distant, vague promise of escaping together.

He changes his mind. Kaede won’t be the first victim, but the first culprit. 

Maybe it’s a good thing that he hates her.

(It’s still such a shame, really.)

Maybe the despairing truth is that nobody here deserves Shuichi. And isn’t that just _hilarious?_ Monokuma would laugh. The audience would laugh. 

Kokichi’s laughing too, at this horribly tragic comedy that his life has suddenly become. 

The thought of Shuichi lingers at the back of his mind like a bitter aftertaste as he wills himself to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry there were no actual saiouma interactions this chapter... just pining on kokichi's end... but there will be more in the next!! with a bit more focus on shuichi as well! But I hope Kokichi's interactions with everyone else was interesting on its own too. I made this fic take place in chapter one because I wanted to explore how Kokichi would be with everyone, not just Shuichi, but only now do I realize just how. many. characters. there really are. four chapters really might not be enough but we'll see -- this was only supposed to be a short, warm-up sort of fic before I delved into the other fic ideas I had but it's really gotten away from me... 
> 
> idk if anyone cares for some ~behind the scenes~ but fun fact, Kaito originally had the cowardly disease. But it was hard for me to write him, and idk, I think Kaito having the liar's disease just works so well with Kokichi's gullible disease in reflecting what their characters stand for in the original killing game. It was more of a joke in this chapter, but I really hope to convey all the nuances and differences between the two of them! 
> 
> I'll stop rambling here aslkdjfadskl so, thanks for reading and hope everyone has a pleasant rest of the day :)


	3. dance, dance, i want to devote myself to this crazy scenery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!! Hope you guys have been doing great! First of all, I just wanted to apologize for the delay in getting this chapter out. I had meant to post earlier, but well, things got busy - I wasn't home for a week, and then the semester started, and classes were overwhelming, and there was this one scene that felt impossible to write, and aaHHHH. If I thought chapter 2 was a struggle, well, this one took around 7 drafts for me to feel satisfied enough to post (for context, the previous chapters have taken around 3/4). 
> 
> On that note, I would seriously not have made it without the help of my lovely beta, [serenscribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenescribe/pseuds/serenescribe), who is amazing and always provides wonderful content in the comments section of my documents. I also got some help from [Seluniii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweezey), who really helped me figure out the finer details of the plot. So huge huge thank you to both, this fic would not be where it is without y'all <3
> 
> And speaking of some plot changes, I have UPDATED THE TAGS OF THIS FIC!! Please read them carefully as I've done my best to tag as much as possible! Just to be safe, you know? And uh, I know they look pretty bad and I don't want to spoil anything, but I also want to note that this fic will NOT have an angsty ending, so rest assured. Or, well, not too angsty. I think. 
> 
> Also, can I just say?? 300+ Kudos already?? I am absolutely blown away by all the support and kind comments you guys give me. Seriously. I appreciate every single one of you so so much, and I try my best to reply to everyone but If I do not I apologize. I definitely reach each and every single one and cry about it. Multiple times. Ajhhgldska anyways- 
> 
> I feel like these notes are getting longer and longer now so I'll stop here. Thank you for reading as always, and I hope you enjoy the chapter :)

There are some nights, when the sky is dark, and Shuichi is alone, and the humid, sticky air makes it harder to breathe, where he’ll find himself lying awake in bed while listening to the steady _drip, drip, drip_ of his leaky bathroom faucet.

He’s asked Monokuma to fix it before, but the robotic bear had just laughed and said something about a limited budget for production— whatever _that_ means. Shuichi usually can’t hear it if he keeps his bathroom door closed, but most nights he’ll end up forgetting. And by the time he’s made to bed, he can’t bring himself to get up again.

So, he listens. Tonight, the water seems to be falling more erratically than usual, the cadence of his faucet unsteady and irregular. Or maybe it just _seems_ that way, thanks to the festering anxiety that’s been lingering under his skin, like a parasitic worry that eats him up from the insides. He can’t quite tell anymore.

Either way, it’s been hard for him to sleep with the despair disease looming over all of them. No matter how many times Kaede and the others reassure him, no matter how many of his friends tell him it’s okay to take a break, he can’t help but feel responsible for it all. He needs to come up with an idea, a solution— anything, really, that can help. But no matter how many theories he drafts, no matter how many times he goes over how the despair disease might work, writing and rewriting and wracking his brain for answers, it’s just not enough.

For the first time since the start of the killing game, Shuichi can’t think of a way to counter Monokuma.

_Drip, drip._

And it keeps him up, this idea that there’s nothing he can do, except wait for someone else to figure it out for him. That once again, he’ll only become useful _after_ the crime, _after_ the ringleader has made their move, after _all his friends are already dead and it’s his fault, he should’ve stopped it and—_

_Drip, drip._

Shuichi releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, the quiet noise enough to jolt him out of his thoughts. He blinks up at the ceiling, feeling disoriented.

Unfortunately, the ceiling offers no answers.

 _What can I do here?_ Shuichi’s asked himself the question more often than he likes to admit. _What can I change?_

When Shuichi first started helping his uncle around the agency, he truly believed that his keen intellect and strength in deductive reasoning could be used for good — for the _truth._ And he had grown, _improved,_ strived for this vague, optimistic idea; once, long ago, Shuichi had let himself think that as long as he found the truth, things would be okay.

Now the thought leaves him with a bitter taste in his mouth. With his breakthrough case, with the _truth,_ his entire world had soured, instilling fear instead of the pride that usually came with an Ultimate title.

Sometimes, he feels that the incident has left him hollow. A detective that fears the truth is the same as an engine without its gears, Shuichi thinks, nothing more than empty junk. A decorative piece with no valuable function.

Other times, it feels like there’s nothing left of him at all but burning shrapnel, his psyche shattered into a thousand pieces that have long since melted away. He’s blank, _gone,_ unable to muster enough pieces of himself to even look people in the eyes. The Shuichi Saihara he wants to be has long since disappeared.

No matter how many times he’s protested though, his label as the Ultimate Detective is permanent. He should be grateful, he should be _happy,_ but rather than a blessing, the title has felt more like a burden. Even here, he can’t escape the expectant gazes of those who hear about his title. He’s not sure what’s worse, really — the heavy look of anticipation when they first see him, or the inevitable disappointment that follows when they realize what he’s _really_ like.

He’s supposed to be smart, he’s supposed to be _good_ at this game, but whenever he thinks about the situation they’re in and what it means, and what he should do, _can_ do, he feels at a loss.

(Because the truth is— 

—the truth is that out of the sixteen students trapped here, one is most likely the ringleader. Shuichi’s had a few weeks to get to know everyone, and maybe it’s his reluctance to point fingers, or maybe it’s the ringleader’s cunning ability to blend in, but Shuichi genuinely has no idea who it could be.

And he’s always been afraid of finding the truth, but he’s never been _this_ terrified of it before.)

_Drip, drip, drip._

Shuichi blinks, and the room comes back into focus. His faucet seems louder than usual too. If he concentrates, he can convince himself that the water is falling in tune with his heartbeat.

_Drip, drip, drip._

He wonders if Kaede could make music with this tempo. Wonders if it's okay to trust her so much, if he should let her know about his discovery in the library. It’s a risk (she could be the ringleader, she could try and _kill_ him), but he doesn’t have the strength to ace this on his own, he’s _scared_ and _god, what am I supposed to do? Why does everyone expect me to know the answer? I’m just a detective in-training, and yet— and yet…_

_Drip— BAM, BAM._

Shuichi’s breath catches in his throat.

Someone is at the door.

He hasn’t checked the time in a while, but he knows it’s much too early (or late?) for anyone else to be awake. He has no idea who it could be, and suddenly the subtle, nervous energy fluttering under his skin feels _electrifying,_ dancing across his nerves with an intense rhythm.

The person knocks again, and he finds himself frantically stumbling over his own feet as he scrambles to the door.

Shuichi knows he must look like a mess: dark shadows under his eyes, pajamas ruffled from his tossing and turning, uncombed, oily hair that sticks out wildly. Even so, he feels a bit offended when Maki looks up at him with thinly veiled disdain, clearly unimpressed.

“Ugh,” she says.

Shuichi bites back a defensive retort and briefly wishes he had at least remembered to put on his hat before opening the door. “Wh— what happened?” he manages to choke out. “Who died?”

Maki’s gaze somehow fills with even more contempt. “Calm down. Nobody’s dead. It’s just—” and her cold gaze loosens a bit as she starts to play with her hair, “—well. I think it’d make more sense if you come and see. I know it’s early, but go and clean yourself up a bit. We’ll be waiting outside.”

He tries to hide his obvious relief, but judging by the way Maki rolls her eyes, he’s not doing a very good job. “That— okay, that’s fine, then,” he huffs. Then he processes what Maki’s said. “Wait, _we?_ Who else is waiting? What’s going on?”

“Like I said, you’ll understand if you just… see for yourself. So hurry up.” Without waiting for a response, Maki turns as if to walk away. A second before the door shuts between them though, she quickly looks over her shoulder and clears her throat. 

“Oh, and one more thing.” She looks uncharacteristically nervous, for some reason. “Don’t get run over.”

And with _that_ bit of cryptic advice, Maki disappears down the stairs. 

_O...kay. Okay. Cool cool cool. Don’t know what that was about, but cool._

He’s too tired to try and understand what Maki means by that — did they somehow find _cars_ somewhere in the school? Was that it? — but his mind reels anyways, theories already formulating as he gets ready as fast as possible. He quickly changes into his uniform (what could possibly be so hard to tell him outright? He bites his lips, considering the options) and slips on his hat (Kaede’s always trying to get him to take it off, but even so…), finally making his way downstairs once he’s done. 

He takes one step out of the dormitories and thinks, _oh._

_Now I understand._

Because standing before him is _Gonta,_ who, despite his innocent nature and gentlemanly ways, can be pretty intimidating on a normal day.

 _Gonta,_ who is normally kind and soft; a bit rough around the edges but someone Shuichi tends to trust.

 _Gonta,_ who is now looking at him as if he’s spit and stepped on every single bug in existence. 

He doesn’t even have time to scream, or have any coherent thought other than _“Shit,”_ as Gonta shoots towards him like a _madman_ while letting out a hoarse cry. With his life flashing before his eyes, he doesn’t notice someone else is there until a figure suddenly jumps out from a nearby bush, pushing him to the side just in time. 

He wheezes from the impact as his elbows scrape against dirt and asphalt, heart beating wildly as Gonta abruptly runs into the front door of the dormitories. More voices join the fray, and it takes a moment for his adrenaline-addled mind to calm down enough to recognize Tenko, along with Maki, desperately holding onto Gonta’s arms to slow down his rampage, and another for him to look down and see who saved his life.

Ryoma Hoshi’s dead glare stares back at him. 

I— ah, uh?” Shuichi clears his throat and tries again. “Um— thanks, Hoshi-kun.” 

“It’s no problem,” he says, quickly getting off of Shuichi and dusting the gravel from his pants. “You’re lucky I was there to help you, you know. Didn’t Harukawa tell you to be careful while coming out?”

Shuichi thinks back to Maki’s words and scowls. “No,” he says darkly. “No, she didn’t, actually.”

Ryoma raises an eyebrow but otherwise stays silent as he offers him a hand. Shuichi gratefully takes it, knees a little shaky as he takes a moment to carefully survey the scene around him.

The area around them is an absolute mess, the usually well-kept greenery clearly trampled on. A variety of structures are topped over, debris mixing with the remains of multiple broken flower pots he remembers Gonta planting around a week ago. Other than the five of them, no one else seems to be awake, the early morning sun just barely peeking out from beyond the End Wall.

Gonta struggles against Tenko and Maki for a few seconds longer before finally relenting, clenched hands falling to his side. He turns to Shuichi after a moment, expression still fierce but a bit softer, somehow.

“Gonta sorry,” he grits out, sounding frustrated rather than apologetic. “Just— Gonta was looking for bugs. Could not find any. That made Gonta mad.”

“Ah… that’s okay, I understand,” Shuichi says placatingly, before putting a hand to his chin, mind already racing with possibilities. _I’m starting to get it now… but who found him like this? Did he wake up sick, or was he already awake when the symptoms hit? Were there any other signs of illness before the disease took hold?_

Ryoma, thankfully, seems to sense Shuichi’s curiosity and speaks up. “I was taking my early morning walk when I noticed him wandering around. Went up to him to ask what was up, then…” Ryoma gestures to the mess around them. “Needless to say, I managed to avoid getting hurt using my _Shukuchi_ method. Then I went and got Tenko and Maki, and after some discussion we decided it’d be best to get you too.”

Shuichi finds himself nodding along, all the way until the very end. “Ah, Tenko and Maki I understand, but… why me?”

Ryoma pulls his hat down, his gaze piercing and cold. “Well, you’re the detective around here, aren’t you? I was hoping you’d know what to do with him. I… don’t think it’s safe to put him with the others.”

 _Ah._ “R-right…” Shuichi swallows, and tries not to let it show how heavy Ryoma’s words make him feel. “Also, Harukawa-san, why didn’t you just… tell me Gonta had the despair disease?”

“If I told you Gonta were sick with the vengeful disease, you wouldn’t have come out, right? Because you’d be afraid.” Maki puffs out her cheeks and turns away.” I just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t run away. ‘Cause you seem like that type.”

“I…” Shuichi bites his lips, unable to come up with a response. _Is this really how the others view me? Someone who’s somehow supposed to have everything figured out… but also, someone who’s a coward._

_Is that what they really think? Aren’t I better than this?_

_Why can’t I refute them?_

Lost in his thoughts, he barely notices Tenko waving her arms wildly in front of his face. “So? Any ideas? Tenko thinks we should use the library, so he can’t hurt anyone!”

Shuichi blinks, then shakes his head. “N-no, that won’t work…. Last time we tried to use it, Shirogane-san mentioned how the mold and dust in there is too hard to clean. I don’t think it’s healthy to have sick people in such an old room… Ah, and besides, we’d have to readjust the shifts to accommodate the entire basement.”

“Are you saying we should have Gokuhara around _Himi—_ I mean, the others in the same place?” She drops her voice, looking furtively at Gonta with a pinched expression “What if he goes insane and _kills_ someone?”

“Actually, with the way the despair disease works, I think the chances of that happening are rather low. Even now, Gokuhara is showing a good amount of self-restraint, which… um.” Shuichi trails off when he realizes that everyone is looking at him now, _staring,_ everyone is _always staring—_

(He thinks of eyes full of hate. A gaze that pierced his very soul, gripped his heart and tore it to pieces. For Shuichi, stares have always been a painful reminder of his greatest mistake, except… except when it comes to Kokichi, strangely enough. 

Kokichi, who is like the light, in the sense that Shuichi is the abyss, and every time he is looked upon, he feels compelled to look back. He finds himself wanting to reach towards that spark, which flickers like a warm, beckoning fire. What would it be like to run his fingers through those enticing flames, to stain his fingertips with accents of ash?

He’s afraid to find out, so he’s always looked away first.)

“…Th-that is to say,” he continues nervously, “the despair disease can only effectively change one aspect of someone’s personality. Even if Gonta is prone to fits of anger now, his kind disposition should dissuade him from doing anything _too_ drastic… I think.”

Gonta nods along aggressively. “Yeah, you can trust Gonta! Gonta would no hurt fly.”

“It’s not the _flies_ I’m worried about…” Tenko mutters, but one sharp glare from Maki is enough to get her to quiet down.

“Then Gokuhara will go with everyone else,” Maki states, her tone suggesting no room for argument. “We might have to readjust sleeping arrangements… it doesn’t make sense for Himiko to have the big room all by herself anymore. Saihara, go down and let them know who’s coming down. We’ll give you five minutes. Chabashira, Hoshi, Gokuhara — let’s go take a brief walk.”

“I-I guess if Harukawa says so, I can’t complain,” Tenko says with a grimace. Gonta ambles along, brows slightly furrowed but otherwise calm.

Ryoma gives him one last look from behind his shoulders. “I’m countin’ on you, kid,” he intones, before walking off himself.

And then Shuichi is left alone, the morning air sharp against his burning cheeks.

He finds himself wanting to laugh, strangely enough. Shuichi knows he has the title of Ultimate Detective, _thought_ he understood the implications that always followed it, but still — even for him, this all just feels like a bit _much._

Growing up, he had always thought that getting an Ultimate title meant security. A clear direction in life, one purpose to guide someone forward. Now though, Shuichi finds that he has no idea what’s even expected of him as the so-called ‘Ultimate Detective.’

 _Ultimate?_ What even qualifies him as one? His _singular_ case? It just never feels like enough, and he knows the title is his to keep, but with every passing day, he can’t shake the feeling that he has to prove himself. That at some point, someone will look at him and finally realize that he’s a fraud. An imposter, dragging the integrity of the entire Ultimate Initiative through the mud.

The pressure is suffocating, and he hates it, hates everything, and most of all, hates _himself_ and what he’s become, but Shuichi forces himself to breathe anyways.

 _You don’t have time for an existential crisis right now,_ he berates himself. _Let’s just go to work._

_Everyone’s counting on you, remember?_

(The thought doesn’t fill him with the reassurance he’d been hoping for).

With a heavy sigh, Shuichi begins walking to the game room, his own thoughts a thousand miles away as the morning sun rises quietly in the distance.

* * *

Kokichi feels like he’s only seconds away from losing his mind.

“You can’t be serious,” he deadpans, looking Kaito Momota in the eyes over breakfast. He’s abandoned trying to choke down Kirumi’s porridge, instead half-leaning over the table from sheer incredulity.

“I’m telling you,” Kaito starts, swinging a spoon around. “I’ve been to the sun before.”

“The sun. The fucking _sun.”_

“What? Think I haven’t been to space before?”

At that, Kokichi pauses, unable to come up with a rebuttal in his sickened haze. Irritation licks at his nerves as Kaito grins, haughty and _jeering,_ and he finds himself rambling before he can stop to think. “Then how come you’re not _dead,_ huh? The sun— the sun is—” He pauses, struggling to find the right words. “The sun is _hot.”_

“Doesn’t matter. If the sun and I got into a fight, I would _win.”_

“Fuck,” Kokichi breathes out. “That’s not normal. Hey, Yumeno-chan? Could _you_ fight the sun?”

Himiko immediately perks up at the attention, absolutely enthralled to be a part of the conversation. “No, no, the sun is too tiring to fight. I wouldn’t.” She pauses dramatically while stabbing into her plate of eggs. “But the _moon?_ I think I could handle the moon.”

“You could totally handle the moon,” Kaito agrees.

“This is ridiculous.” Kokichi sighs, about to go into a long rant about how it isn’t fair that _they_ can fight celestial bodies when _he_ can’t, when he belatedly notices Shuichi Saihara staring at them with a horribly confused expression, the door slightly open behind him.

“Um,” he starts, skittish. “S-sorry, I just came in. Am I interrupting something?”

 _Oh my god,_ Kokichi thinks miserably. _Now he_ _knows that I’m the only one here who wouldn’t be able to fight a celestial body._

(And from the back of his mind, a tiny voice whispers, _this is stupid. You have bigger things to worry about._

But his mind pulses with pain and the voice grows distant, washed away by a heat-haze that makes it hard to think clearly. He knows he needs to be on guard, be cautious around the others, but for what reason or why he suddenly can’t recall.

He just feels like closing his eyes and…)

“—doing here?” Someone is saying, and Kokichi has to pinch his arm to bring himself back to the conversation.

“We’re not in trouble, right?” Himiko’s the one speaking now, furtively looking over her shoulders before cupping her hands against her mouth as if to whisper. “Look, I promise we don’t mess with Ouma-kun _that_ much. It’s all just harmless pranks! The other day I told him I was a group of hamsters standing on top of each other in a costume—”

“N-no, no, it’s not about that,” Shuichi reluctantly interrupts. “I just… um, had some news?”

 _News._ The word causes his mind to stir _._ There’s a reason why they’re all gathered here in the game room, he vaguely recalls, a reason why these days Kokichi feels so far away from himself. This is probably important— he should listen in case he needs to adjust his plan— what happened to his plan anyways, he wonders, what _was_ his plan—?

New voices join the fray, sending a fresh wave of pain through his temples. _Ugh._ Miu and Rantaro, who are there to watch over them because… because they’re all _sick,_ right, sick in the head for taking part in the killing game. They’re all sinners here, they’ve already lost the game, and now all that’s left is to wait for their execution.

Except, Kokichi doesn’t think he’s killed anyone. And he doesn’t plan on doing it either, so why is he sick again? He can’t remember, brain all fuzzy and layered in melted plastic, because he’s _hot,_ and he can’t think, and _why can’t I remember, what are we doing here, why am I just sitting here while the killing game continues?_

Then he’s sick in a different way, leaning forward while his body heaves uncomfortably.

(There’s too much white noise in his brain, he notes distantly.

Because he needs to protect himself from a potential kill, but most people have told him that they won’t try to hurt him. He needs to be alert, but he’s also been told to relax, to forget about the killing game for now, focus on getting better. He needs to lead DICE, except they aren’t around anymore, might not even _be_ real, but there are some nights when he’s struck with the horrible thought that they _are,_ and they’re watching him fall apart. That they’re watching him _lose the game._

And then Kaede said that it’d be okay to love him, to love Shuichi, but there’s a fear that lives inside his chest that says otherwise, that screams whenever a hint of affection gets too close. It shouldn’t be possible, he doesn’t deserve it, but _still_ he believes, and his head spins and spins with all the contradictions that are stuffed inside, to the point where if he tries to _think,_ he finds himself nauseous.

He can feel himself slipping further away, but the fever has sunk its claws into his skin, has pulled him in so deep he’s forgotten how to swim or ask for air, and instead floats around listlessly in a haze.)

“—ma? Ouma-kun?” Someone has their hand on his back, suddenly, the touch soft and tender and _kind,_ and he immediately knows that it is Shuichi. He turns to see him, Kokichi’s weary eyes meeting Shuichi’s own steely grey — the ones that haunt his best dreams and his worst nightmares, with long lashes and dark hair that frames his face so perfectly.

He chokes back a sob and wishes with all his might that he could lean in for a kiss.

_(But wishes are just another kind of white lie, he thinks. And white lies will never be more than a palliative for his pain.)_

“S-Saihara-chan?” he manages to slur out, feeling dizzy and _didn’t Shuichi come down here to share news? I— I need to know._ “Wha’s… going on?”

Shuichi doesn’t bother answering, instead turning to look at someone else. Kokichi does his best to focus on the conversation, but the pulsing pain in his skull makes it hard to grasp onto anything. “His delirium is… worse, I can try and help… down. Could you clean up…? Thanks and make sure you… another bed for…”

Kokichi feels himself shiver (and suddenly he’s _cold,_ so, so cold and yet still _burning_ from the inside), finally finding enough strength to reach out and vaguely grab at Shuichi.

His hand manages to land on his stupid collar. “H-hey, Is Saihara-chan going to tell… me what’s going on…?”

“Ouma.” Shuichi frowns. “Here, let’s get you into some fresh clothes.”

He wants to make a joke about being undressed but it doesn’t quite make it past his parched lips. They somehow stumble their way into the AV room, even with Kokichi’s jelly legs, and while he’s too tired to be ashamed of himself, he repeatedly mutters _“sorry”_ on the way there anyways.

It isn’t until he’s situated in his bed, Shuichi looking around for spare clothes, that he finds the strength to speak without stuttering so much. “Hey, Saihara-chan. Have you ever been to space?”

Shuichi looks up at the question, momentarily pausing in his search. “Uh… no, I can’t say I have.”

“Momota-chan has,” Kokichi continues, unsure why he’s talking about this when he could be asking about the killing game, or why Shuichi’s down here when it’s not his shift, or if he could ever have it in him to fall in love even in this shitty place, filled with only shitty people. “He can fight the sun.”

Shuichi’s mouth quirks a bit up at that. “Oh? Can he, now?”

“Yep, yep! I didn’t think it was possible, but apparently he’s, uh, immune… immune to the sun. Whatever that means, I don’t really know. But I guess there’s a reason they call him the Ultimate Astronaut…”

“I’m sure there is. Here, sit up a bit so I can help you unbutton—”

“I could never get close to the sun,” Kokichi rambles on, feeling more and more feverish and there’s— there’s something he wants to say, _needs_ to say, but his thoughts feel so far away, consciousness stretched like cotton candy wisps dissolving into water. Shuichi’s coaxed him out of his stupid jacket and he shivers at the cool air.

“But it doesn’t matter, you know? If I — If I had to, I-I’d… I’d fight all the stars in the sky for you, Saihara-chan.”

Shuichi stiffens at that, fingers still against his chest. He wonders, briefly, if Shuichi can feel his heartbeat through the thin fabric. If Shuichi can feel how he’s bleeding, how it feels like this disease is _killing_ him from the inside-out.

“You’re delirious,” Shuichi whispers, like a reminder.

“That doesn’t mean I’m a liar,” Kokichi grins. “But that’s a lie in and of itself. I’ll always be a liar. You shouldn’t trust me.”

Somehow, Shuichi’s face softens at that, eyebrows drawn in a way that twists Kokichi’s soul, fills him with a horrible happiness that he knows he can’t hold onto, unless he wants to burn both of them. It _hurts,_ to be helped like this. It hurts, because he knows that it’s selfish, knows that indulging will only open more weaknesses, but he can’t help but crave it all the more.

And he knows, in another world, in another time, where Shuichi doesn’t need to play detective and Kokichi doesn’t have to be the villain, the martyr, the _antagonist,_ that there’s a chance for happiness out there. That there’s a place where Kokichi might allow this happiness to stay.

(But that place isn’t here. That place is probably another white lie anyways.

He doesn’t care. He’ll swallow those lies whole, swallow them until he’s full, he’s so _ravenous_ for any sort of attention so that all everything that’s fake still tastes wonderful.) 

“I trust you,” Shuichi mutters, three words that shake Kokichi to his core, dangerous and beautiful and _bright._

“Then you’re even more of an idiot than I thought.”

Shuichi laughs at that, voice ringing hollow. “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

They lapse into silence then, and Kokichi isn’t sure how long they sit there. He knows, theoretically, that his fever is not supposed to get this bad, that he should be scared and worried and on his guard, but Shuichi is here, Shuichi is _kind,_ so he stays floating.

Until Shuichi speaks up again.

“Ouma-kun, do you think you can move?” he starts, gentle. “Are you going to be sick again? We should go back to the others soon.”

Kokichi huffs, breath hot against his own skin. _The others,_ he thinks, and abruptly it feels like a part of himself has been snapped back into place at the reminder. _The others, right, I— what are we doing sitting here?_

His voice is low, urgent. “Saihara-chan. It’s not your shift. You came down to share some news with us, right?”

Shuichi startles a bit at the inquiry. “I— uh, yes, but you don’t need to worry about it—”

“Tell me the truth. Tell me now, or else I won’t move.”

There’s a moment of hesitation before Shuichi pulls down his hat, looking at the floor with an unreadable expression. “Gokuhara-kun has the despair disease. The vengeful disease, to be exact, but I don’t think he’ll be violent with people. Or, uh, not intentionally anyways. You’ll be fine, I…”

Shuichi continues rambling on and on, but Kokichi isn’t listening anymore. He feels like he’s been pulled underwater again, except this time the water is freezing cold, like ice that seeps through his very skin and crystalizes in his veins. _Despair disease… right, the motive. The killing game. That’s why we’re here. That’s why I’m like this._

“We’re all gonna die, aren’t we?” Kokichi interrupts suddenly, and the thought is so striking that he immediately seizes with a strange sort of panic. “We— unless someone kills somebody else, we’re all just going to get sick and die.”

“Th-that’s not true…”

“Don’t lie to me. I—I’m tired of it, everyone’s telling me to relax or whatever, but that’s the truth, right?” Kokichi laughs, feeling lightheaded. “We’re all _dying._ This is it, the final chapter. It won’t be long until—”

_“No, you’re wrong!”_

Shuichi’s eyes are blazing with a determination he didn’t know the detective possessed. “Please. I know it all seems bad, but I… I have a plan. Or, well, it’s just an _idea_ right now I suppose, but I— I think it could work. I think I can solve this. So please… trust in me.”

 _Trust, trust, trust._ The word spins uselessly around in his head like a carousel, except nobody’s riding. It’s like an abandoned amusement park that's been decaying for years, dilapidated horses spinning aimlessly in a circle. A reminder that faith has only ever hurt him. 

Kokichi has never trusted anyone easily. The fact that he loves Shuichi Saihara should be even more of a reason to be wary.

_But even so…_

“…A plan,” Kokichi says, before he can get lost in his thoughts again.

“A plan,” Shuichi echoes.

_Is it alright if I leave this up to you, this one time?_

“If you can find a way to get through this without anyone dying… then I’ll trust you.”

Shuichi smiles at him, opens his mouth as if to respond, but then—

A horribly grating laugh fills the air, and Kokichi’s stomach drops to his feet as Monokuma pops up from nowhere.

“Really? Really? Does mister detective over here really have such an amazing plan? I wanna know about it too!” Monokuma laughs, throwing his hands into the air with glee.

Seeing the robotic bear, smiling and bright-eyed as usual, fills Kokichi with a familiar rage that cuts through all the cotton in his head. _“Monokuma,”_ he growls. “What do you want from us?”

“Well, I thought I’d drop by and intrude on this heartfelt moment, you know? I just couldn’t help myself… I was just about moved to tears! Although you’re crueler than I thought, Shuichi, _lying_ to Kokichi even in a situation like this.”

“…What,” Kokichi croaks out, feeling lost.

“I wasn’t lying about anything,” Shuichi spits, and Kokichi is surprised by the malice in his tone as well.

“Aww, come on! A plan where _nobody_ dies? That sounds like one of those white lies you love so much, Kokichi! Except this one isn’t even white— it’s just a straight up lie!”

Monokuma leans forward and despite himself, Kokichi shudders. “Someone has to die. That’s the truth. And don’t ever forget it okay? I don’t care how it happens— homicide, a hit and run, hell, even suicide! Any way to start the killing game is good enough for me.”

“That’s not true,” Shuichi argues back, but Monokuma isn’t listening.

“In fact, suicide might be the next best thing y’all got, yanno? Since we can’t execute someone who’s already dead… but that’d be such a _boring_ trial! Oops, maybe I shouldn’t have told you about that one. _Puhuhu!_ In the end, I leave the decision up to you guys.”

“We will _never_ kill one another,” Shuichi states, voice firm and unrelenting as he stares Monokuma down. “Don’t you get it? You will never get what you want.”

Monokuma lets out a dramatic sigh. “I gotta say, I know you guys are at that rebellious teen age, but this schtick is getting real, real old! And I’m getting real, _real_ mad. Listen up, you ungrateful brats. I’m only going to warn you once, but it won’t be long until I lose my patience… and when I do, you’ll have _wished_ you had played along when you could’ve!”

With one last, chilling laugh, Monokuma disappears.

Kokichi blinks at the spot the robotic bear had been standing in, mind slowly turning with the new information. It makes sense, Kokichi thinks, he _believes_ him, and it's like his thoughts have melted into molasses, Monokuma’s words deeply implanting themselves into his subconsciousness. _Who’s telling the truth? Monokuma? Shuichi?_

 _“Ouma.”_ Shuichi is shaking him, voice panicked and desperate. “Ouma-kun. Listen to me, you— don’t listen to what Monokuma said, okay? He was lying. There’s no need for us to resort to such drastic measures. My idea will work.”

_It doesn’t matter who’s lying,_ Kokichi realizes, _because at the end of the day, Monokuma is the one who has power in the killing game. Monokuma is the one in control._

_We were fools to think we could ever outrun this._

“Sure,” he mutters, if only to assuage Shuichi, but the damage has already been done. Kokichi is already drifting.

_Someone will die._

If there’s a murder, they’ll have to kill the murderer too.

_Someone will die._

But if there’s a suicide, then the casualties are limited to one.

_Someone will die._

And he… he can control who that person is.

 _I can save them all,_ he thinks, almost frantically. _I can save them all._

 _(This isn’t what you want,_ some smaller part of him whispers, a voice that sounds like his own. _That sort of ending will be boring._ Meaningless. _You’ll be letting the ringleader win.)_

But as Shuichi hesitantly carries him back out to the game room, as he listlessly watches Kaito and Himiko and Gonta all huddled together at the breakfast table, as he sees Miu and Rantaro chatting about something or the other, he feels something within him shift. 

As he stares at the other students, living, _breathing,_ that voice goes further and further away, buried under the heat of his skin and the air and the ocean tides that drag him deeper into the abyss.

Shuichi might be the protagonist here, but…

_(Don’t trust them. Don’t trust them. Don’t trust anyone but yourself. Only you can do this, Kokichi, you’re alone here.)_

…Maybe Kokichi can be the hero he’s always dreamed to be.

_(But was this really your dream…?)_

Kokichi swallows. The voice trembles, and then disappears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Sorry. 
> 
> KDJFSDKFS okay but!! some good news, I have decided to add another chapter to this fic. While writing I realized I was way overzealous with the initial chapter plans. Even though I tried to hit every plot point I wanted to make, I ended up w/ a huge chunk of 10k that still didn't feel developed enough. And so, I decided to take it slow and split it. I want to say the next chapter will be out soon, but school is still sorta kicking my ass. I will be doing my best though! 
> 
> Some bonus content of the Himiko hamster joke I wrote, because I have a bad sense of humor:
> 
> "Yes." Himiko spreads her hands in a grand gesture. "I am made up of 158 hamsters. We are all called the 158 dark devas of destruction. You better not anger us, or else... uh, or else we'll get real mad. Or something." 
> 
> "...Fuck," Kokichi says, choked up. "158 hamsters. _Fuck._ "  
> .  
> Also, an important link from my beta about the whole 'don't get run over' scene: [click here :)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Ui_FxK-ICg)
> 
> Once again thank you thank you thank you to every reader, commenter, and kudos-er(???). I'm really happy so many people seem to be enjoying this so far. It's only been around a month, but it's been a journey! As someone who spent most of 2020 writing shorter one-shots, the fact that i've hit 15k+ words already sorta feels like an achievement. I say "sort-of" because even though i've written _so_ many drafts, even though I keep planning on writing more and more, it just... never feels like I've done enough. I want to say even more. I don't think i've been this consumed by a series/set of characters in quite a while and it's sorta refreshing! I'm already cooking up other longfic ideas (this was supposed to be a quick character study one-shot sorta thing btw,,,,,, how did we end up w/ 5 chapters lmao) on the backburner so I hope you guys can look forward to that sometime in the future as well. 
> 
> I hope everyone has a great rest of the day, and if you're in school like me may we survive this semester :pensive:


	4. the love that isn't there drew up good luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Their love is inevitable,  
> and perhaps, so is their goodbye.) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Hope everyone has had a fantastic February so far! How is it already almost March...? I swore I thought I was making good pace w/ this chapter, but then I checked the last time I updated and it's basically been a whole month? :/ Time is fake... 
> 
> I don't have much to say this time, but I just wanted to give a warning that this chapter has heavy content **cw for some serious suicide ideation ahead.** Once again, I urge everyone to **carefully** read through the tags of this fic and treat yourself kindly! 
> 
> But other than that, I hope you guys can enjoy! I worked realllllly hard on this one and I'm sorta proud of it?? hrmgndsakj and there's quite A Lot packed into it, so I hope that can make up for the long wait. 
> 
> And thats all!! as I write this i realize I genuinely never know how to end these things. This is going to be an awkward transition now. Bye

There’s a gentle breeze in the air that tickles his face. Shuichi brushes away a few strands of hair from his eyes, and stares at the sky above.

He sits by the gazebo in front of their dorms, listlessly letting his thoughts wander. The weather is as pleasant as usual, with gentle sunrays shining down and a few sparse clouds dotting the view. It reminds him of those edited postcards found in gift shops, with big, fancy letters that span the horizon: _‘Wish you were here!’_ it might read, except right now there are no words in the sky, no picturesque buildings to dot the scenery. Instead, the horizon dips down to reveal a half-constructed school, foliage and debris filling every cracked corner the Exisals have yet to repair.

Not for the first time, Shuichi’s eyes flicker to the End Wall and its imposing beams, long spider-like needles that tower over them. Despite how vast the endless sky above them seems, he’s never once felt free. 

Silently, he wonders: _Where in the world_ are _we?_ He’s asked Monokuma countless times, but of course the robotic bear hasn’t budged on giving them a proper answer. Wherever it is, all he knows is that they’re far removed from society — abandoned and alone. If there’s help coming, he imagines it to be very far away.

What he doesn’t get, then, is how there’s a deserted school so far out from the rest of the world, or how Monokuma managed to get enough materials to have entire rooms dedicated for each of them, with technology far beyond what he remembers being _possible,_ and—

— always, always, this infinite, perfect spring day. If he were in any other situation, he might’ve had the mind to enjoy it, but the more he thinks about how lovely the weather is, the more unnerved he feels. There’s never been rain, or even a cloudy day. Just this little faux utopia-like haze, where the sun always shines, and the stars always glimmer brightly at night.

It’s as he’s sitting there that Kaede Akamatsu finds him, expression light as she taps him on the shoulders.

Shuichi, who hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes at some point, startles at the contact.

“Penny for your thoughts?” she says, smoothly moving so that she sits down next to him. Shuichi flushes from the proximity and instinctively leans away, pulling his hat down with a nervous cough.

“Ah, just…” And his throat closes up, unsure how to explain himself. It feels like there are a thousand unsaid words on his tongue, a thousand things he could try and clarify, but instead he swallows it all down. _It’s a nice day,_ he thinks, breathing in the fresh air, _and… I don’t want to ruin it._

“It’s nothing,” he lies, shooting her what he hopes is a convincing smile in return.

Kaede’s expression grows pinched around the corners, but she doesn’t push— and he’s grateful, always has been, for her understanding. She’s probably the only one who really _gets it_ around here, Shuichi thinks, because he’s seen the way she blinks back her own tears to encourage everyone else, the way she bears the burden of _leader_ and makes everyone put their expectations, their failures, and their dreams of escape on _her._

There’s a weight on her shoulders, the same way there's a weight on his to use his talent to figure out the mystery of this school, to be able to solve the case when— no, _if_ a class trial ever occurs, an unspoken camaraderie that the two of them have carefully built over the weeks. Shuichi would’ve never imagined someone as bright and optimistic and _kind_ as Kaede to choose him as her advisor of sorts, but… while intimidated, he’s also a little glad.

They sit in silence for a little while, Kaede swinging her legs back and forth, Shuichi fidgeting with his fingers. It’s not awkward though, and he finds himself enjoying the company. 

That is, until Kaede turns towards him, a strange look on her face. 

“Hey, Saihara-kun,” she starts casually. “Are you— um. Can we talk?”

Shuichi immediately tenses at the request. “Did something happen?”

“No, no, everything is fine! Or, well, as fine as things can be, considering— aha, you know.” Kaede laughs, her voice trembling a bit before she continues. “I sorta phrased it weird, didn’t I? Sorry. I guess I just wanted to… talk about something casual for once. Like friends? We haven’t really seen each other outside of our shifts together, and I… I miss just being able to relax in the afternoons.”

Kaede’s voice grows weaker the longer she rambles, sounding horribly vulnerable. Shuichi blinks, unsure how to go about comforting her, and in his hesitation, she only seems to deflate more.

“S-sorry, you probably don’t have time for that, it’s selfish of me to—”

“No! N-no, I really wasn’t doing anything out here and I—I would like to talk as well. If that’s okay with you.” He winces at his own awkward tone, but thankfully Kaede doesn’t seem to mind, instead shooting him a desperately hopeful look.

“Really? Great, that’s great— Ah, sorry, I’m getting excited over something so simple, aren’t I?” Kaede laughs to herself, the sound somewhat hollow. “It’s just… the weather is so nice. It sorta reminded me of this one time in middle school, when I was getting ready for one of my recitals…”

Kaede continues to tell stories of her past concerts and the different pieces she’s practiced and practiced until her fingers bled. Shuichi shyly offers tales from his uncle’s office, of lost pet alligators and late-night marathons of true-crime television.

And it’s _nice,_ he realizes, because for a moment they can pretend that they’re just old friends catching up after school. That they’ve left classes, maybe, and there are no such things as giant killer robots that roam the campus grounds, or that they aren’t thousands of miles away from their families, forced into a cruel situation where their lives are on the line. 

They can pretend that everything is _normal._ They can pretend that Shuichi doesn’t spend most of his free time trying to make sure none of his new friends have died. They can pretend that Kaede doesn’t have bags under her eyes that rival Shuichi’s own. 

They can pretend that they’re _happy._

He’s not sure how they get to the topic, but at some point Kaede brings up her first crush, and it’s while he’s trying not to fluster at the way she gushes about all the cute girls she’s ever met that she suddenly leans in, a devious expression on her face.

“Have you ever been in love, Saihara-kun?”

And Shuichi’s brain promptly short circuits.

“Wh- _what?!”_ Shuichi splutters, face turning red. “I— uh, I don’t know, isn’t it— Why are you even _asking,_ anyways?!”

Kaede pouts at that, though the mischief doesn’t leave her eyes. “Aww, c’mon! I told you about _my_ first crush, I wanna know about yours too! It’s only fair, right? Tell me~ is there anyone you like right now?” At that last part, she pokes him in the arm, giggling.

And Shuichi wishes he could laugh back. Wishes he could hide his face, pull down his hat and say, _of course not Akamatsu-san, that’s out of the question!_ Wishes her words didn’t immediately fill him with a sense of dread, didn’t fill his heart with a fragile sort of fear.

“…No,” Shuichi finally answers, unable to keep his tone light, a single syllable that leaves him breathless.

 _That’s right. It’s not love,_ Shuichi thinks, the truth bitter on his tongue. And then he thinks of dark, curly hair tipped with purple. An enticing smile that beckons to him from the dark. A lilting laugh that seems to follow him no matter how dire the situation.

It’s strange, because what used to be simple curiosity has twisted into this _thing,_ ever since Shuichi’s had to start taking care of him. He— _Kokichi_ (and he hates the way his heart flutters at the mere thought of his name, his face) had always seemed so unflappable, _infallible,_ laughing his way through Monokuma’s attempts to start the killing game. Shuichi had been intrigued, but also a bit terrified. 

To see him delirious, rambling about fighting _stars,_ tales of his secret organization long forgotten—

To see him so impossibly, irrefutably _human_ — 

It leaves a strange feeling in his chest, a fluttering thing that he isn’t quite sure how to handle. The Kokichi he knows shouldn’t be the kind to cry, and yet, over the past few weeks he’s seen the way Kokichi hides his tears, the way he _bleeds_ , just as desperate to survive like the rest of them. 

_It’s not love, but it could be._

And that’s what he's really scared of, at the end of the day. Because in this killing game, “tomorrow” has never been a guarantee. Shuichi could die at any point. _Kokichi_ could die at any point. In the realm of the killing game, the chances of their story _ending_ rather than beginning is likelier.

He’s afraid that if he dares go past that first page, if he dares to reach out his hand and try, there’ll be nothing but sheets upon sheets filled with bloodied ink, their bright and shining futures written over by the ringleader’s cruel hand. As long as death looms over them, he doesn’t want to take that chance. It’ll hurt too much to have it then lose it, Shuichi thinks. Better to have never held it at all. Better to stay ignorant, eyes closed, head turned away from the crime scene.

But no matter how many times he tells himself this, there’s still a part of Shuichi that craves it. He wants to see the _real_ Kokichi, behind the masks and lies and the horribly painful grin he wears like he’s running out of time. He wants to be able to hold him, to chase away the loneliness that lingers in his eyes, to make him _happy,_ so fervently that it hurts to even look at him sometimes.

Shuichi wants to have the chance to fall in love, slowly, _surely,_ but he knows deeper still that sort of fantasy is something he can only pray for.

_(So he’ll pray, and pray, and pray, and sometimes he feels desperate enough to ask Angie for help too. There are times at night when he feels like he can understand why she falls back on her god so much, because when the world around them has become hell, what else can they cling to?_

_Not that praying will actually help, he knows. In the darkness, his faucet going drip, drip, drip, he knows that god has long abandoned them and if there’s any hope to be found, they’ll have to work for it themselves. Baseless faith has no place in this rotten nightmare of a school._

_But still, he prays, because right now it’s all that he knows to do; a wish, a miracle, he’s greedy for wanting it all, but that doesn’t stop his heart from yearning.)_

“…I think there’s something wrong with me,” Shuichi finally continues, his voice crumbling at the admission. “We’re in this horrible place and I— he— we might— It’s just… the _worst_ timing for it, you know?”

“Oh Saihara-kun,” Kaede says sadly, grabbing his shoulder to give a reassuring squeeze. “Love doesn’t care whether the time is right or not. It just _happens.”_

“I never asked for this,” he practically spits, and suddenly he feels angry, _desperate_ as he thinks about how horribly, horribly _cruel_ the world is being to him right now. “I can’t— Akamatsu-san, we’re in a _killing game_ right now. Isn’t it weird that I’ve got a crush?”

“I think the fact that we’re in a killing game means it’s okay to be a little weird, if you ask me.” Kaede laughs in an attempt to lighten the mood, but it falls flat. “If anything, shouldn’t that incentivize you to try? Before it becomes too late… before you have regrets… you should make the most out of the today that you’ve been given, right?”

Shuichi bites his lips, sighing ruefully. “A relationship isn’t safe in a place like this, Akamatsu-san. Pursuing something so dangerous… I would never want to put him in that situation.”

It’d be selfish, he knows, but in that small moment, he lets himself imagine the _what ifs_ — because Kokichi is like the burning sun, and if he isn’t careful he’ll get pulled in by his gravity, by the enticing mystery that is his entire being, the glimpses of _human_ underneath the masks he loves to wear. He wants to wipe that smile off his face. He wants to challenge him, to bring him down, to _hold_ him, to see how Kokichi’s palm would fit against his own.

 _It’s not love,_ he thinks again, _but I think I want it to be._

Kaede nervously clears her throat, once again swinging her legs back and forth. “I’m sorry, I ruined the moment, didn’t I? I-I just wanted to chat about silly little things like crushes, but I was insensitive, considering the—”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Shuichi gently interrupts. “If anything, I’m the one who’s sorry for, uh, making it… awkward. And depressing.”

Kaede manages a little laugh at that. “You’re fine, you’re fine! I— for what it’s worth, Saihara-kun…” And this time it’s Kaede who turns away, so Shuichi cannot see whatever face it is that she’s making, “I hope you get your happy ending. You… You’re a good person. You deserve it. More than any of us here.”

 _That’s not true,_ he wants to say, but for some reason the words don’t come out. Unable to think of a response, the two of them lapse back into silence, sitting side by side while watching the sky above them. Left with his thoughts, Kaede’s words echo in Shuichi’s head — and he continues to dream of that far-off future, a cruel hope beating steady against his chest like the faucet of his bathroom sink, going _drip, drip, drip._

* * *

And then time runs out.

And then Shuichi realizes he’s waited too long.

And then a few days later, he finds Miu curled up in front of her dorm room, sobbing inconsolably about something or other, too much of a mess to even articulate what she’s upset about. _Everything,_ she seems to say, _everything’s just too much._

It doesn’t take long for Shuichi to put a hand to her forehead, even if he already knows the answer.

Monokuma shows up while Shuichi, Maki and Kaede are trying to escort a crying Miu to the basement, his one red eye horribly bright and sharp as he lets out a chilling laugh.

“I _warned_ you,” he says gleefully, “and I’m getting tired of waiting for you naughty boys and girls to get started, so I’ve decided that we’re going to speed things up! Puhuhu, are you ready…?”

“Just tell us what you want,” Maki snarls. Miu shivers at her tone and relapses into a fresh set of tears.

“You haven’t been listening at _all,_ have you?” Monokuma sighs, ignoring the sniveling inventor. “I think I’ve made it perfectly clear what I want. It’s _you_ guys that haven’t been cooperating! How many weeks?? Do you kids need?? _To stab someone???_ So I’m done playing nice. Yep, I’m here to provide you with a bit of _encouragement_ , if you catch my drift.”

“…A second motive,” Shuichi slowly realizes, the words heavy on his tongue.

Monokuma giggles. “You’re _absoluteeeeely_ right! Here it is, everyone! If there isn’t a killing in 36 hours, I’m going to kill _every single participant_ of the killing game. Death by madness, death by despair disease, death by the Exisals— pick your poison! As I’ve been saying, the killing game _will_ begin. And this time, I’ve made sure _nobody_ can say otherwise!”

In his usual fashion, Monokuma lets out another piercing laugh and disappears, leaving Shuichi and the others with a feeling he’s come to recognize as pure _despair._ It’s with a belated intake of air that Shuichi realizes a horrible truth:

There’s no room for a happy ending here. There’s no room for _love._

The chances for something sweet, something _pure,_ has already decayed into nothing but dust and oblivion. And as he stares down at Miu’s prone figure, he distantly thinks: 

_I really am a fool, aren’t I?_

And then he smiles to himself, knowing that Kokichi would probably agree.

* * *

In the darkness of the night, after a long day of updating the other students with new information and holding meetings that don’t get them anywhere, Shuichi pulls Kaede to the side.

His mind is racing— _has_ been racing the entire day, as he scrambles for answers he knows aren’t there. He promised Kokichi he had an idea— and he does, in a sense, but he had planned on implementing it when they had more time to think and consider their options.

There’s no more room for hesitation though. If he doesn’t act now, everyone’s lives might be lost.

Is it a gamble, trusting Kaede with this? _Yes,_ he knows, but he also thinks back to her kindness. Her encouragement. All the ways she’s supported him. And Shuichi thinks that maybe, _just maybe_ , he can take a chance here.

“Look,” he starts, voice low. “I— I have something to show you. Something I discovered in the library.”

Kaede looks him in the eyes, a strange determination in her gaze as she nods. He shows her the secret door he’s found and admits to asking Miu for some automatic cameras just in case, explains that there’s a high chance the ringleader will go through the door when the time limit ends. Or so he thinks, it’s just a deduction, but _still._

It’s all they have.

(And he does not know this until days have passed, and the piano lid has been closed, and his hat lays on his bedside table—

But it is at this moment that their story ends.)

* * *

Most of the time, Kokichi likes to take pride in his amazing intellect and intuition. It wouldn’t be an understatement to say that he’s become a master at reading people’s intentions and figuring them out, at being one step ahead of everyone else in the crowd.

Just this once though, he wishes he were wrong.

 _A time limit motive._ How horribly predictable… and _lazy._ Kokichi hates it even more because he’s pretty sure it’s going to work. He supposes they’ve been lucky enough to have lasted this long without anyone dying yet, but there’s a part of him that wonders if such a forced, scripted show is really all that entertaining. If people actually _enjoy_ this awful plot that Monokuma’s scrambled together so far.

“You’re worthless, you know that?” Kokichi sneers at Miu, the newest member of the game room. Miu, predictably, begins to cry — and how _apt_ is it that she’s gotten the fearful disease? — but the teary display is nothing like the way she used to whimper before.

 _No,_ Kokichi notes with mild discomfort, the way Miu is crying is full of _terror,_ with full, unabashed tears that run down her face. Even Himiko, who’s been busy pulling magic trick pranks and running around the game room this past week, seems to be dampened by the sight and wordlessly hands her another tissue. Miu’s been lying in fetal position by a makeshift bed for the past four hours.

Kokichi decides that he hates it, but he’s not really sure why. He’s not supposed to care about others, not supposed to get attached to anyone, and _really,_ out of everyone to be concerned with, he would’ve put Miu on the bottom of the list. All they’ve done since meeting is rag on each other, _he shouldn’t care,_ but still.

Miu turns to him with teary eyes, and he hates the way he feels _guilty_ about it.

“I-I-I’m s- _sorry,_ I only got to a b-beta version of what you asked for… I was just so _busy!”_ Miu stutters out between sobs, her entire body shaking with the effort. “Shit-hara asked for these stupid cameras too, and I also had to build a-a stupid ass punching bag for Gokuhara so he doesn’t _kill_ us down here— and I know I’m a f-fucking genius, but it’s just too much, _too much…”_

Kaito, who’s been lounging on a nearby couch while wrapped in blankets, frowns at the scene before him. “Y’know, it’s actually good to bully women,” he says almost casually. Kokichi startles at Kaito’s sudden misogyny, turning to him with raised eyebrows.

“You’re lucky Chabashira-chan wasn’t around to hear that.”

“I— oh, never mind,” Kaito huffs miserably. Himiko, for some reason unknown to Kokichi, begins to giggle at that, and in the distance he hears Gonta letting out a guttural cry as he apparently body-slams the aforementioned punching bag Miu designed.

God bless Gonta’s kind heart, or else they’d all probably be dead by now.

 _We’re all such a mess,_ Kokichi thinks, staring down at Miu’s prone figure again. His mouth runs before he can stop himself, familiar insults loaded onto his tongue.

 _“Fine,_ I-I guess a beta version isn’t totally useless after all. I need it by tonight, okay? Can you handle at least that much, you filthy cum dumpster?”

“Ah— yes, I can, please, I promise I’m useful, _I’ll prove it—”_ Miu shudders, rubbing at her eyes furiously as she chokes back another sob.

Kokichi bites his lips. He’s always belittled the inventor, but it’s never been like _this,_ with Miu genuinely in distress. It feels wrong, suddenly, and he wishes he could take it back. Wishes he could be a good friend, maybe give her a hug and tell her that it’ll be okay. Wishes he could do something _more_ than hurt and rip and tear into the people he’s started to care about.

But he can’t, and he won’t, so Kokichi bites back this foreign urge to actually _comfort_ her and instead turns to his notebook, which he acquired shortly after his initial shift with Gonta and Ryoma. He told Kirumi he wanted to carry around the little drawings they made together, which had been a lie, but for some reason he’s actually taped an illustration Gonta made for him on the first page.

( _Viceroy butterfly,_ Gonta had said, tapping on the orange and black colorings of the carefully drawn bug. _Kokichi is like viceroy butterfly!_

 _That’s a monarch,_ he had replied, staring incredulously at Gonta’s bright expression.  
  
 _No, no, they look very similar, but are actually very different._ Gonta’s expression had shifted into something a little more serious as he launched into an explanation. _Viceroy butterfly looks like monarch to protect itself. It called batesian mimicry! Because monarch poisonous to other animals, many avoid. Viceroy take advantage and make itself look like monarch, even if not poisonous too._

 _Kokichi is like viceroy,_ Gonta had repeated with finality, and Kokichi could only stare with a strange feeling in his chest as he accepted the drawing with trembling hands.) 

Now, he finds himself tracing over the carefully illustrated butterfly, and reassures himself with the thought that both Gonta and Miu will be back to their normal selves by the end of the day.

With the time limit on everyone’s mind, the atmosphere inside the game room is tense. Kokichi sits on a bed by the corner, and quietly waits— although for what, he’s not sure. A signal to continue on with his plan? Or to sit back and let someone else take care of the problem for him?

Absentmindedly, Kokichi flips through his notebook and scans through the half-written scripts for crazy, hypothetical scenarios. He’s not sure when he started drafting them, or where the idea came from, but recently he’s been dreaming of impossible class trials and mystery victims, of pulling something off something so _wild_ that even Monokuma wouldn’t be able to keep up.

It would be nice, he thinks, to have more time.

More time would mean more space to think things through, to carefully consider the options before him. Time, time, _time —_ but they don’t have such luxuries anymore, and all Kokichi is left with is Monokuma’s words, which reverberate around his skull like a mantra: _Homicide, a hit and run, hell, even suicide! Any way to start the killing game is good enough for me._

When he had first heard those words, Kokichi had felt a strange impulse to try and take any sliver of control he could find. He had been so _convinced_ that they would die, that they _were dying,_ he and Shuichi and everyone in that school, and thought, _If they’re going to kill me, I want to do it myself. And then maybe, I can also play the part of the hero._

 _Hero—_ the word feels strange and gummy on his tongue as he mulls it over, because there’s a part of him that thinks it’d be nice to save everyone — but where exactly did such an idea come from? All this talk about _saving the others_ and _being a hero_ is starting to make him sound like Kaito. Kaito, who’s been struggling on his own with his own strain of the despair disease (and what was it, again? _The liar disease,_ right, he reminds himself, something he inevitably forgets every time they talk). _Oh how ironic._

The more he thinks about it, the less he wants to go through with his plan. Kokichi has never been one to do things for the sake of _integrity,_ or _honor._ He has his own set of morals of course, and he’d never wish death upon anyone here, no matter how annoying they were, but— 

At the end of the day, Kokichi Ouma is a selfish human being.

 _I don’t want to die,_ he thinks slowly, a thought that seems to seep out of nowhere as he recalls old dreams of being a hero, of being the _good_ guy for once, the idea of this ideal, _good_ Kokichi crumbling as he admits this secret _._ Because as great as it sounds to become loveable, to be redeemed in death, Kokichi knows he was never meant to play such magnanimus role.

 _I don’t want to die,_ he thinks again, and that’s both a truth and a lie.

Because beyond his fear of death, beyond the crippling paranoia that sticks to his skin, the desperate will to survive that chains itself to his feet, beyond the _hope_ and soft light that is Shuichi Saihara , Kokichi wants to _win._

More than escape, more than a happy ending, underneath his skin lies a blistering desire for complete and _utter_ victory over the stupid ringleader; a crushing vitriol in his veins that wants to destroy the expectations of every single sadistic fuck that decided that their lives could be used like toys.

And he’ll cede all his pawns if it means he gets to capture the king. It’s just a question of _how_ at this point.

_Will a sacrificial death really bring about the victory he’s wanted?_

Lost in his thoughts, Kokichi startles when he realizes that someone is leaning over his shoulder, peering into his open notebook.

“What’cha got there?” Rantaro Amami intones, and Kokichi immediately snaps the book shut. “I thought you told Tojo-san this would be for doodles and drawings.”

“It’s awfully rude to look into someone else’s personal diary, Amami-chan,” Kokichi sighs, batting his eyes in what he hopes is an innocent way. “Also, haven’t you ever heard of a lie before?”

“Those weren’t diary entries either,” Rantaro continues, relentless, and Kokichi can’t help but click his tongue in annoyance. “Unless you happen to write about your day to day in the form of theatrical scripts…?”

“And what if I _do_ , huh?” Kokichi sniffles. “I-Is Amami-chan making fun of the way I write? Y-you’re so _MEAAAAAN!!”_

He bursts into fake tears. Rantaro simply rolls his eyes at the spectacle, crossing his arms in defeat when Kokichi doesn’t stop. “Alright, _alright_ , I won’t push. No need to be so dramatic about it.”

Kokichi immediately quiets, and they lapse back into an awkward silence. Kokichi relaxes for a fraction of a second thinking that he’s won, and that Rantaro will leave now, but instead Rantaro leans in, biting his lips. 

“Look, I— really, you don’t have to tell me specifics or anything. I don’t wanna pry, and I respect your privacy. I guess I just want to know… whether you’re going to do anything reckless or not.”

Kokichi blinks up and meets Rantaro’s smiling face — except there’s something dark, _knowing,_ hidden beneath the expression, a strange light in his eyes.

“What makes you think that I will?” He challenges back. 

Rantaro shrugs nonchalantly. “Let’s just call it a hunch. I feel like you’re always up to something no good, yanno? Heh, although that’s not always a bad thing… Just—” And he pauses then, eyebrows furrowing, “—whatever it is you’re about to do, be careful, alright? I worry about you sometimes.”

_Huh._

Worried? Rantaro was… _worried?_ About someone like Kokichi?

Kokichi shifts uncomfortably under Rantaro’s scrutinizing gaze — and things like this have been happening more recently, he’s realized, people coming in asking if he’s okay, caring for him, looking at him as if they actually _want_ him around. It happened with Kaede after their little talk, it happened with Gonta when he got the drawing, and now _this._

Rantaro ruffles his hair and gives him a smile. His eyes crinkle.

It feels strange, to have people so close.

_It feels wrong, to have people be so kind._

“I’m— I need to go—” Kokichi breathes out, suddenly feeling the desperate need to move, to _get out,_ he’s not sure how to handle this— this sort of attention and warmth he’s never had to hold before. It feels sticky on his skin, gross, warm _affection,_ and things like this will only make him weak, loosen his resolve, they’re all supposed to hate him, so _why?_

“Ouma?” Rantaro’s eyes furrow, reaching a hand towards him. “H-hey, you’re still pretty sick, so—”

“I’m just going to the bathroom,” Kokichi scowls, slapping it away. He pretends he doesn’t see the flash of hurt in Rantaro’s eyes. “I don’t need your help, okay?”

_(Alone, you’ll always be alone, you can’t trust them, don’t trust him—)_

Kokichi turns away from Rantaro, and does something he’s vowed to never do. 

He runs.

* * *

Kokichi does end up going to the bathroom, if only to splash some cool water on his face in an attempt to stave off the coiling heat in his cheeks and regain his senses.

It doesn’t do much to help. His arms tremble as he grips the edges of the sink, staring into the mirror with wide eyes, taking in his haggard appearance. His checkered scarf is half-damp and dripping, with his messy front bangs plastered to his face, deathly pale skin almost yellow under the fluorescent lights. 

He looks scared.

(He looks _lonely._ )

 _What the hell am I even doing,_ he thinks, because Kokichi Ouma is not supposed to be a _coward,_ he’s supposed to face things head on, even overwhelmingly daunting things like the _killing game,_ and he can’t believe it’s something as simple as _affection_ that’s reduced him to this state.

It’s as he’s standing there, staring at himself and wondering where it all went wrong, wondering what to _do,_ desperately wracking his addled brain for any way to win, that Monokuma finds him.

He pops out of nowhere — or maybe he’s been there the entire time, playing Kokichi like a fool — and all Kokichi can do is stand there silently, waiting for Monokuma to start their little charade.

(He’s so, _so_ tired.)

“ _Oooops!_ Sorry, sorry, was I interrupting your little sulk time? I didn’t mean to intrude! Puhuhu~”

Kokichi blinks, the fever pounding at his skull like an incessant drum. Stares at Monokuma with vacant eyes. 

“What do you want?” he finally asks, after a considerable pause. Briefly, Kokichi thinks of their meeting from days long past, when he had first woken up in his sickened haze, desperate and angry as he laughed in Monokuma’s face in his room. 

Now there’s nothing — no anger, no pain, not even the willpower to put on a fake smile with false confidence, to lilt his tone and crinkle his eyes.

“Eh? What’s up with that lackluster response?!” Monokuma shrieks, throwing his arms into the air. When Kokichi doesn’t react, the bear looks to the floor with a dejected expression. “Aw man. Did the despair disease fry your brain a little _toooo_ hard? That’s a shame, really — broken toys are no fun to play with!”

That— _that_ stirs something within him, a flickering flame from the ashes. He manages to smile, thin and reedy, nothing like the way he usually pulls his lips into something sinister, but just as deranged. 

(It feels hollow.)

“Just answer the fucking question _. What do you want from me?”_

Monokuma quickly reverts back to smiling as well. “Welll, I’m glad you finally asked! I’m here for something _interesting._ I told you from the start, right? That the so-called audience is _waiting_ for your call?” His expression turns angry then, once again raising his arms. “I’ll have to admit, I’m somewhat disappointed though — all you’ve been doing is sulking and crying! Who wants to watch someone so _pathetic?_ And even with _all_ the work I put into the despair disease, nobody’s _dead!”_

Kokichi snorts. “And you think I care about this because…?” 

“Because you were supposed to be _interesting,_ Kokichi Ouma,” Monokuma sighs. “But now we’ve come so far with no interesting developments, I’ve been brainstorming myself! How to have the most _despair-filled_ entrance to this killing game! What do you think? _What do you think?_ Ohhhh, I know! How about—”

Monokuma leans in suddenly — and he’s just a stupid, little mascot, just a robotic bear that hides the _real_ ringleader, but Kokichi shivers anyways under the weight of his gleaming red eye.

“A tragic… _love story.”_

…

..

.

_Ah._

Kokichi’s breath hitches.

_Does he know?_

“The despair when a loved one is pulled away before they can even confess… Yes, maybe that’s the push this killing game needs — what an entry that’d be! The separation of two lovers who have yet to love, torn apart dramatically at the last moment. That’s _it!_ Puhuhuhuhu!” Monokuma’s laugh echoes throughout the bathroom, wicked and sharp. 

Kokichi swallows. 

( _he knows he knows he knows he knows_ — 

And then Kokichi thinks back to his confession, the things he said in front of Kaede, in front of the _ringleader;_ because of course they’d be listening, they probably had ears _everywhere,_ how could he be so _naive_ ? He never should’ve let his guard down, never should’ve admitted something so _weak,_ in this place where love only exists as a weapon and

He feels as if he’s on the edge of a precipice, and all it’ll take is one push, one hand, to tilt him either way.)

“You’re here to threaten me,” Kokichi mutters, mostly to himself. Monokuma’s smile only widens.

And _this_ —

 _This_ is the reason why Kokichi can never have Shuichi, he thinks. This is just proof that everything he ever holds close can only crumble, that his love is laced with _poison._ Gonta was wrong, Kokichi is the monarch, not the viceroy. This is why he always hides behind a smile, keeps his cards close to his chest, because to be himself, to be _free,_ only brings more misery. 

“I’m not scared of whatever you have planned for me,” he says quietly, keeping his smile. “Go ahead — _kill me._ Break your rules. Show everyone in the world how _fake_ this killing game really is, under your guise of _entertainment!_ ”  
  
Kokichi smirks with an air of confidence he doesn’t really feel, hoping to get a rise out of Monokuma, to call him out on his bluff — but to his surprise, Monokuma doesn’t become angry like he expected.

Instead, he throws back his head and _laughs._ “Puhuhuhu… Oh, did you think I was talking about _you?_ _Please,_ I was talking about the _protagonist_ , of course!”

_....What?_

“…What?” He says stupidly, mind reeling to a halt. 

Staring at Monokuma’s gleeful expression, Kokichi finds himself suddenly _afraid._ He takes a tentative step backwards, hitting the sink behind him. 

_I need to stop listening,_ some part of him whispers, his back hitting the bathroom sink, _I can’t—_

But Monokuma doesn’t give him time to run, to cover his ears, and instead leans in with a gleaming look. “I’ll tell you the _truth.”_

(and he looks over that edge — to the darkness below, above, where he’ll be killed, or saved, or maybe they’re the same thing)

“You… are _boring,_ Kokichi Ouma.”

(and he’s falling, _gone)_

Monokuma’s _really_ laughing now, as if he can’t contain himself, a high-pitched giggle that pervades all of Kokichi’s senses, constant and repeating. “Puhuhu… _puhuhu…._ did you really think some side character like _you_ could play a significant part in this game? That I’d care whether you live or die? What a joke!”

“I-I _can,”_ Kokichi grits out, but his voice is faltering, failing. “I _will—”_

“But that’s another lie, isn’t it?” Monokuma tilts his head. “That’s just what _you_ think. But in reality, you’ll never be as important of a character as the protagonist. Why would I concern myself with _you?_ ”

_Is it—_

_Is that the truth?_

_Am I…boring?_

Kokichi stills, unable to come up with a response. 

_If I’m boring, then…_

“I think it’d be _much_ more interesting to see where the story will go if the protagonist dies in the very first chapter. What do you think?”

“Then you’d be breaking the rules of the game,” Kokichi retorts quickly, desperate for some footing against Monokuma. “You can’t participate in any of the murders— you can’t just _kill_ him like that—”

“Oh, I’m just making suggestions, silly. I would never kill him myself! And if some other death happens first then, _ohhhhh well._ It’s a shame, but it’s a start nonetheless! I won’t complain too much either way.” 

Kokichi blinks. _If some other death happens?_

“This was a very enlightening talk, Kokichi,” Monokuma giggles. “I’m curious to know what you’ll do… the clock is ticking! Will you rise to hope in the face of this despair? Or will you succumb, and let this game derail before it’s even started? Either way let’s give it our all, with _everything_ we’ve got!”

And then Monokuma disappears, leaving Kokichi in the bathroom, his entire body cold from his wet scarf, the sink behind him, fingers shaking as he reels from this information.

Monokuma is right. Kokichi _believes_ him.

To think that he ever believed that he could have an impact on this killing game— 

_I was just lying to myself the whole time, wasn’t I?_

Kokichi is nothing — limbs torn apart, stripped of his ability to tell lies from truth, he’s become nothing but an afterthought, nothing but someone _boring._ The him that might have had a cunning plan up his sleeve at the very last moment, the him that could’ve pulled off a glorious finale of a class trial, is _gone._ Buried under the heat haze of fever and _lies, lies, lies,_ all of them now truths that he carries. 

The Kokichi Ouma he wants to be has long since disappeared.

The Kokchi Ouma he wants to be, the _protagonist—_

 _Shuichi, Shuichi,_ his heart burns with the thought of him _,_ and he feels envy, _hatred,_ longing, _loving_ . Shuichi, who will be able to change the killing game in a way Kokichi can only dream of, Shuichi who will survive, _has_ to survive. Shuichi, the only one with the willpower to reach for the truth.

_I have to save him._

And the thought doesn’t even come from a place of love, it’s _selfish,_ because he knows that the true end of the killing game will hinge on Shuichi’s survival, only the protagonist will play a role. If Shuichi dies here, no one else will be able to uncover all the mysteries in this school — Kaede is too optimistic, Rantaro is too mysterious, Kokichi is _nothing,_ and nobody else stands out as a leader. _Trust me,_ Shuichi had said— 

And what better way to trust than to give Shuichi his life, his will, his dream to end the killing game?

Kokichi doesn’t want to die for someone else. It’s so horribly… _cliché_ and overdone and _dull,_ but what else can he do with his miserable life? _You’re boring,_ Monokuma had said, and he believes him, he can’t change anything by himself, so he might as well use his life for something _useful,_ something memorable, something that’ll last beyond him. His _legacy_ — 

He’ll burn, and bring Monokuma’s stupid, self-serving plans for a _fun_ killing game right along to hell with him.

(And as he stands there, thinking, dreaming, _falling,_ the bathroom sink goes _drip,_

_drip,_

_drip.)_

* * *

That night, he slips away to the kitchens.

Kokichi hums a little tune as he makes his way up the stairs. The school is eerily quiet, with nobody else in sight. 

Soon, Monokuma’s time limit will hit, but he finds himself strangely at peace. 

For some reason, Kokichi finds himself thinking of Kaede while walking, and the way she smiled at him, pitying and bright with a reassuring _go for it!_ on her lips.He thinks of Gonta, who lovingly made him a drawing, has always smiled at him no matter how many times Kokichi belittled the entomologist. He thinks of Miu, and the way she made him what he asked for despite being sick, through her desperate tears.

He thinks of Shuichi too, and wonders if they’ll all be sad when he dies.

Some selfish part of him wants to say _yes, of course, who wouldn’t?_ But he knows that it’d be a white lie anyways, because Kokichi Ouma was never built to be loved, was only built to be a throwaway villain. He can feel it from deep within, from the way he’s been _coded_ — he’s too self-destructive, too hard around the edges to ever be shaped into someone worthy.

He finds a knife in the kitchen, and picks it up.

 _This will do,_ Kokichi thinks slowly. 

He carefully detonates Miu’s invention, the _Electrobomb_ according to her naming scheme. This part of his plan is something a bit more selfish, the blueprints something he had planned on leaving behind as a gift. It was never meant for something like _this._

But if Kokichi is going to die, he doesn’t want to give Monokuma or anyone else the satisfaction of _seeing._ If the audience is oh-so _desperate_ for some action, if Kokichi is _truly_ boring as Monokuma claims, then he’ll give his death to them in the most uninteresting, predictable, _unobservable_ way he can. 

And _that_ will be his revenge. 

_A trial that will end as soon as it begins. No one to execute. No footage of his death for anyone to see._

It’s just him, alone in that room. Nobody to act for. 

_And this way, my friends will survive too._

Ah, but when did the rest of the Ultimates become his _friends?_ When did he allow himself to grow so weak? He’s always detested Kaito and Kaede’s cowardly little speeches on _friendship_ and _working together,_ always kept his distance from killers like Ryoma and Maki. His love, his appreciation, his _grace_ towards Shuichi is supposed to be an _outlier._

And yet here he is, with a knife in his hands and his heart in his mouth, and it doesn’t even feel like it’s beating anymore, like he’s already dead and all that’s been left is a ghost, a shell, one breath away from becoming nothing but ash, and he _doesn’t want to go—_

“K-Kokichi?”

A voice suddenly calls out — a voice that’s not his. It’s hesitant. _Soft._

_(And he recognizes it instantly, would recognize it anywhere, even if a hundred years passed without hearing that voice. Even if he spent his entire lifetime trying to forget. Kokichi hears this voice in his dreams and nightmares and he hears it calling out to him now, it’s—)_

“Saihara-chan,” he breathes out, quiet.

He stares at the way Shuichi stiffens, eyes roaming to the knife and the bomb.

He stares at the way Shuichi’s eyes darken with understanding, with fear, with determination.

He stares at the way Shuichi is _good,_ because he doesn’t need to be here, he _shouldn’t_ be here, and yet here he is anyways, standing with a hesitant, outstretched hand and a silent plea.

And Kokichi thinks—

_Why him?_

Why did he have to fall in love with Shuichi Saihara? It’s just not fair, it makes everything so much _harder._

(But he also thinks of his smile, his intellect, his steady presence and thinks, _how could I not?_ Because no matter what world or universe they’re in, he thinks he’ll always, _always_ fall. There’s just something so enticing about Shuichi that calls to Kokichi, that feels like _home,_ and he _craves_ it, that belonging.

Their love is inevitable,

and perhaps, so is their goodbye.)

“Why are you here, Saihara-chan?” he finally says, breaking the silence. The kitchen isn’t a big room at all, but the space between them feels like a gaping chasm. Uncrossable. Unavoidable.

Shuichi takes a hesitant step forward. Kokichi steps back.

“Wh-what are _you_ doing here?” Shuichi nervously replies, eyes constantly on the knife. “It’s getting late, and you shouldn’t be out when M-Monokuma’s motive is about to end—”

“Well you see, I was just about to end it, actually! And as much as I _love_ having an audience, I’m afraid this is a private show. So move along! Pretend you didn’t see anything! Unless…,” and Kokichi lowers his eyes into a terrifying gaze, “you want to die instead?” 

The threat is a lie. He knows, and _Shuichi_ knows, and so there they stand, neither of them willing to back down.

“Kokichi. _Kokichi,_ ” Shuichi finally calls, repeating himself like he’s praying, “Please, _don’t do this—”_

And—

And something in Kokichi finally _breaks._

 _“No,_ no— don’t you _dare_ tell me to stop, I can’t— I _won’t,_ ” Kokichi spits, and it feels like the words are crawling out of his mouth against his will, desperate to get out, desperate to be _heard,_ frantic as the knife trembles in his hands. “For the first time in my goddamn life, I’m gonna— I’m gonna do something _good,_ don’t you see? If I can’t make a difference in this lifetime, I’ll make sure I do it while I’m fucking dead. I’ll _save_ you so you can win— so don’t you forget me, Saihara. Don’t you _ever_ forget me. If you can at least promise me that… then I’ll be happy. Then I’ll have won. S-so…”

He trails off as Shuichi steps closer,

_a loving gaze_

and closer,

_a small smile_

until Kokichi can’t move back

_and he’s so close,_

he leans in

_for a kill_

for a kiss?

_just like he’s always dreamed_

and then Shuichi says:

_“I love you,”_

and it’s like a secret, his saving grace, three words that pierce his heart like an arrow, that plunge into his chest, making him bleed, Shuichi’s so close, _so close_

and Kokichi— 

_Kokichi can’t feel him there._

“Oh, he says, a small exhale that feels like it’s been punched out of him. _“Oh.”_

He stares, and stares, and stares, at the empty space before him, at the flickering shadow in his vision. Kokichi feels his lips curl into a deranged smile.

“You’re not really here, are you Saihara-chan? This is all just in my head.”

Shuichi smiles back, all teeth, eyes unblinking, unseeing, _dead._

_I should’ve known,_ he thinks maniacally. _I should’ve known right away, it was all too good to be true, and…_

“You’ve been calling me Kokichi, you know? You only ever do that in my dreams.”

Except this isn’t a dream, _delusion_ might be a better word, because that’s what this is — a complete and utter delusion, where the person he loves comes to save him at the very last moment; a world where the detective sweeps in to rescue the phantom thief that’s about to steal his own life and says the exact words he wants to hear, _don’t do this, I love you, I love you._

It’s _deranged._

 _I wish you were really here,_ he can’t help but think. _I wish—_

 _I wish I didn’t have to die,_ because even now he doesn't want to kill himself, but he does want it to _end,_ really, he’s so tired of trying, of acting, of running himself dry as he wraps himself up in lies upon lies upon lies. He wants to crawl into his masks, into someone else’s skin and _hide_ , wants someone to chase him and cut open his heart anyways, see all the rot and decay inside, look him in the eyes and say, _it’s okay, you’re okay, you’re okay._

He wishes he could hold happiness in his hands and think, _this is real, I am allowed to have this,_ wants to be able to hold something as fragile as his own love or life without the urge to crush it and rip it to shreds, to throw it away with the rest of his fragile, beating chest.

He wishes— 

He wishes things were different.

“How can I _win?”_ Kokichi says to no one, his voice desperate and dripping, fingers trembling as even now, he can’t find it in himself to— to _do it,_ to use his life, it’s so _selfish_ but even now, broken on the ground and hallucinating with nothing left to live for in his boring, predictable life— 

_He still wants to live._

“You always figure out something, don’t ‘cha, boss?” 

And it’s not Shuichi there anymore, but DICE, all gathered and watching him with their masks off, except there’s nothing but static on their faces, indiscernible details, because he’s never been able to remember what they look like underneath.

 _“I hate you—”_ he says to DICE, to Shuichi, but mostly to himself, _“I hate you,_ you— you can’t even _die_ when you’re supposed to, I’m so— _I’m so—_ ”

_I’m so tired of lying to myself._

Maybe— maybe Shuichi will die tonight, and maybe it’ll be Kokichi’s fault, maybe he could’ve stopped it, maybe it’s selfish to keep on living despite it all, despite _knowing_ it’s his fault Shuichi is being targeted, but even so.

_Even so, Kokichi Ouma does not want to die tonight._

“I really am so pathetic, aren’t I?” he says to Shuichi, to DICE, to his reflection on the unused knife. 

Fake-Shuichi only gives him a small smile. “I trust in you,” he says, and it’s a lie but Kokichi’s heart trembles anyways. 

_Help me,_ he wants to say, _please help me,_ and Kokichi hesitantly reaches out a hand towards Shuichi’s face, wondering if he’ll feel something there, something _warm._ His breath hitches, and or a moment he swears he brushes against soft skin. 

_Then the illusion-_

_disappears._

And Kokichi finds himself truly, finally, alone. 

He’s not sure how long he stands there, feeling hollowed out and empty, but at some point, he moves to put away the unused knife with surprisingly steady hands. For the first time in a long while, it feels like his mind is quiet. 

(Would Shuichi agree with his choice? Would Shuichi be proud of him?

Would Shuichi forgive him?)

He isn’t sure what to do, anymore — surely someone’s noticed that he’s disappeared by now, and to simply sneak back would look suspicious. He decides he’ll stay still until the next morning until someone finds him, and pray that he can come up with a suitable alibi in that time.

That is, until he hears the sound of something hitting the floor with a loud _thud_ right outside the dining hall.

He blinks at the vaguely familiar noise that follows — _a voice?_

 _That might be another hallucination,_ he thinks, and then he ends up creeping closer to the entrance anyways, pressing his ear up against the wall. The voice becomes clearer. 

_Is that… Kaede?_ Kokichi frowns. Judging by the way she’s cursing and moving about, he would guess that she’s dropped something heavy. There’s a brief moment of silence before he hears the faint noise of a zipper, which he assumes is her backpack, and a _clink_ as said heavy object is presumably stuffed inside.

There’s a bit more shuffling, and a tired sigh before her footsteps finally fade.

_What business could Kaede possibly have in the storage room this late at night?_

Kokichi bites his lips, the gears in his mind slowly turning. She was obviously plotting something, so perhaps the better question to ask would be: 

_Would Kaede be everyone’s savior, or everyone’s downfall?_

_I should check,_ some distant part of him thinks.

With slow steps, Kokichi steps out of the dining hall and feels _relieved,_ strangely enough, to be out of that room, to leave that choice behind. There’s no going back now — he’s made his decision, and with this life, he’ll— he’ll solve this one last mystery, because that’s the least he can do, right?

And he only manages to take five steps from the dining hall, when a hand wraps around his neck.

He chokes, blinking rapidly as his eyes adjust to the sudden assault in the darkness. _Red_ is the first thing he sees, _furious, dripping like blood—_

Maki Harukawa, whose eyes are cold and deadly.

_“Found you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to my two wonderful betas [seluniii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweezey) (ty for helping me w/ Kokichi's sequence throughout this specifically :D) and [serenescribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenescribe/pseuds/serenescribe)\- who, by the way, has a AMAZING fic if you're hungry for some maki-centered content and fun killing game shenanigans (and also some nice saiouma in future chapters :eyes:) ([here's a link](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29634726/chapters/72856317)). CHECK IT OUT!!! 
> 
> There's only one chapter left to write, and I'm sorta surprised I made it this far myself;; I'm really, really grateful to all the amazing support i've gotten so far? we're at 450+ kudos- that's fucking crazy! I say this every chpt notes but truly - I am so grateful for everyone and their comments and kudos. 
> 
> Thanks for reading guys, and I hope yall have a fantastic rest of the day :)

**Author's Note:**

> you can also find me at:  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/ixcarus_)  
> [tumblr](https://iixcarus.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Likes and comments are very much appreciated! ty so much for reading :)


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